Kaiidth
by OMhypothesis
Summary: Sometimes Fate gets tired of the whole 'love that transcends time and space' trope, and tries to give itself a break. As far as Lady Luck is concerned, however, these two are inevitable. AU, Spock/Fem!Kirk, in a universe where Jim as we know him was born 100 years too early. M for cussin', bleedin', and eventual sexin'.
1. Introduction

_Brief Timeline:_

_2130 - birth of Samantha Jameson Kirk_

_2151 - Launch of Enterprise NX-01, warp five engine_

_2154 - S.J. Kirk disappears during Klingon attack on NX-01_

_2161 - formation of the Federation_

_2299 - Marriage of George and Winona Kirk_

_2230 - birth of George Samuel Kirk Jr._

_2233 - Death of George Samuel Kirk Sr. in first Narada attack_

_2262 - Enterprise discovers the wreckage of Neh'Vor class ChR Nei'rrh_

* * *

Winona Kirk was not a woman given to flippant conversation. George Samuel took after her that way and was generally a somber, serious young man - although he had flashes of mischief.

"How did your date go, Mama?" Sam asked his mother after she'd removed her coat.

"Mediocre," she responded succinctly. She loosened her collar. "How was your day at school?"

"Terrible," said Sam with a dry smile. "It always is after Memorial Day." His mother made a sympathetic sound. "Sometimes I really hate being named after Dad," Sam continued with uncharacteristic bitterness.

"Don't," Winona chided gently. "It's a proud name. A family name." Seeing her son's tight expression, she added, "You know, George wanted to name you _Tiberius_. At least I managed to spare you that."

"And for that, I thank you," said Sam, his face finally clearing. "Hey Mom?"

"Yes, son."

"I get the George bit. Dad's uncle, right? But where does the Samuel come from?"

Winona paused. "An ancestor of your father's," she said thoughtfully. "Bit of a family mystery, that one. Her name was Samantha. I know that she was a very influential engineer in the 2100's. I think your grandfather had hopes that his son would go into the sciences rather than join Starfleet. Too bad it didn't pan out," she murmured.

Sam knew she didn't mean it. Despite the events that had taken George away from her, her husband remained the great love of his mother's life. She couldn't regret their meeting, even if their life together had been tragically brief.

"Do you think I'll make a better scientist than Dad?" Sam asked wistfully.

Winona Kirk smiled wryly. "You're certainly smart in that way. As for other ways..." Sam chuckled. "You've got a lot of your father in you, too."

* * *

"Why is it always Romulans?" Christopher Pike muttered as they materialized onto the damaged vessel.

"It is not _always_ Romulans," George Samuel Kirk remonstrated.

"Will you assholes shut the hell up?" Leonard McCoy growled irritably. "I'm trying to get a fix on that life signature!" His tricorder whirred dramatically. There was no reason for it to do that, but it did anyways. Starfleet liked its devices to produce cheerful whirring, beeping, howling or whooshing noises whenever possible. "Unstable signal. Damn it!"

Captain Pike was surveying the smashed-up bridge curiously. "What do you think happened here anyways? These consoles are fried all to hell and there's heavy damage to the hull… looks like these fixtures got smashed in a tumble, like the gravity replicators shorted out. No blood though. No bodies. Two life boats missing." He rummaged through a little pile of broken communicators, non-plussed. "This ship is strange. I've never even seen this kind of lay-out. Looks almost like a research vessel…"

"No point in conjecture," Sam noted. "We should have a proper look first."

"Oy, Chris!" came Scotty's crackling voice over the com.

"Yeah?" Pike buzzed back.

"Looks like yer flotsam's got a right wicked cloaking device installed. Yank the memory banks for me, there's a lad."

"Mr. Scott," Sam broke in sternly. "May I remind you that Starfleet Command will have access to the details of this mission. Please address the Captain by his title."

"Aye, Lieutenant." Pike was kneeling by the flight console, rummaging through an unfamiliar tangle of wires. Sam bent to assist him. McCoy dithered with the tricorder, wandering towards an emergency ladder. "Think I've got a fix," he mumbled.

"Take Sam," the Captain said absently.

"Damn it, Pike, you ain't my mother!" was the wrathful retort.

"Fine, fine," he said placatingly as Sam frowned. "Be right back!" said McCoy, popping down the repair shoot. "Uh, Captain, you might want to come see this," said McCoy's disembodied voice.

"What is it, McCoy? You find a live one?"

"Just come down. _Now_ would be good." Pike made a motion to his second, and they both moved towards the ladder. "Take the first right, then the third left," McCoy instructed. They followed the sound of his voice.

The chamber they ended up in was filled with grey pods and a weird, rhythmic sloshing sound. McCoy stood by an open pod, looking uncharacteristically apprehensive. Pike moved to his side and looked down, drawing a deep breath as he did so. "Mmm," he breathed. "Anyone want to explain… what I'm looking at here?"

"Well, she's definitely human," said McCoy quietly, fiddling with his tricorder.

"Her hair…"

"Hair keeps growing in stasis. Nobody knows why," McCoy muttered.

"It's got to be down to her ankles. What does that _mean_?"

"It means she's been in here for a long time," the doctor said sharply. "God knows how long. Ten years? Twenty?" Apparently reassured by something he was seeing on the reader, he reached down and gently wiped strands of hair away from the woman's face. She didn't stir. Kirk, however, went a strange color and practically stumbled backwards. "Lieutenant?" McCoy queried, alarmed.

"I know her!" Sam whispered.

"_Excuse _me?"

"I _know _her!" Kirk seemed to struggle with his next words. He leaned heavily on an empty pod. "At least, I think I do. And if I'm right, she's been in there a lot longer than twenty years."

"What do you mean?"

"My mother had pictures of her. Of my great-great-great aunt. Who disappeared… in 2154."


	2. Chapter 1

****I own nothing. Also, my lore occasionally gets sketchy. True Believers, I beg thee, point out my mistakes and I will fix them.****

After McCoy had spent some time extricating the woman from her stasis prison and making sure she was stable, he ordered Sam to lift her in his arms and the three of them pinged Scotty for pick up. As soon as they shimmered into existence on the transport pad, McCoy was back to interrogation. Who is she, what is she, how does someone survive 110 years in stasis, what happened, why… Sam sighed tiredly, still trying to process the situation.

"Mom said I was named after her. Samantha Jameson Kirk." Behind them, Scotty choked on his tonic water.

"I'm sorry, _who_?" he spluttered.

"Um, Sam-an-tha Kirk?" Sam enunciated slowly.

"That woman, there?" The Captain nodded warily. "Any relation to THE Samantha Kirk?" Kirk and McCoy looked blankly at him. "You know. The woman who _invented the Warp 5 Engine_?" Scotty prompted, as if they were being intentionally dumb.

"Huh," said Kirk. "Well, Mom did say she was one of the best engineers of her age."

"WHAT?!" roared Scotty.

"For God's sake, man, are we going to take this girl to sickbay or wait for her to expire?" McCoy interrupted testily.

"Go, go!" Sam gestured. "Better ping the Vulcan. He'll want to see this."

* * *

"Tricorder indicates she's about 28 years old. But you say she was 24 when she disappeared." Dr. McCoy frowned at his instrument. "I've never heard of someone aging in stasis. Then again, 110 years…"

"It is far more probable that she was woken periodically," said the Enterprise's Vulcan Science Officer, startling both his superior and the CMO.

"Why do you say that?" Kirk ventured.

"For what other purpose would they abduct her?" Spock replied logically.

"Uh… not following you, sorry."

Spock's voice was infinitely patient. "Chief Engineer Kirk, who you claim this woman to be, headed Terra's Warp 5 program and was a primary consultant on the NX Project." The CMO huffed dismissively. Spock turned impassive eyes on him. "Do you recall when the Romulans first adopted Warp 5 technology, Dr. McCoy?"

"Who gives a damn?" snapped the physician, just as Sam said, "2155." Then his eyes widened. "_Oh!_"

"Yes," Spock agreed.

"But then, why keep her alive? After they'd got what they wanted, I mean."

"Two years is far more time than a Romulan seeker would require to extract the aforesaid information from a human mind. If my interpretation of Dr. Kirk's publications is correct, it is likely that they attempted to use her expertise on other development projects as well." He paused. "If everything attributed to her is indeed her own work, my assessment would be that your ancestor was remarkably intelligent for a Terran."

"The hell do you mean, _for a Terran_," McCoy snarled.

"My apologies, doctor. I did not mean to offend."

"Whatever," the CMO snapped, turning to his patient. He scanned her briefly, before manually checking her pulse and pupils. "Shouldn't she have woken up by now?" Sam worried aloud.

"Yes," McCoy said shortly. Then, "She ain't brain-dead. Her mind's going a mile a minute." He palpated her abdomen, checking for abnormalities. "No obvious trauma. Heart rate, breathing, kidney and liver function all within normal limits. By all counts she's fine, physically. Hmm…"

"Maybe she doesn't want to wake up," Kirk suggested.

"Don't be an ass," McCoy sniffed, but Spock once again looked pensive. "The Lieutenant may be partially correct. If Dr. Kirk has withstood psychological damage…"

McCoy paused, catching on. "If she's had Romulans pulling her in and out of stasis for mind searches, that's not entirely out of the question," he said slowly.

"You should go in there, then," Sam said tentatively. The other two men turned shocked eyes towards him. "That would be entirely inappropriate," Spock said coldly.

"Mind melds without consent are against Federation law," McCoy added angrily.

"So, what?" Sam countered. "You're going to leave her here to rot? That seems pretty... messed up to me." McCoy stilled, and Spock glanced artfully away. "Just a peek," Sam pushed in a softer tone. "Just to see what's wrong."

"I must consider carefully," said the Vulcan reluctantly.

"Sure, think on it. I'll see you guys later."

* * *

Four hours later Spock rejoined the ship's physician in sickbay. "There has been no change?" he asked.

Dr. McCoy did not like the Vulcan Science Officer.

He was superb at his job, masterful at analyzing foreign objects and technology under rapid-fire conditions, and dependable to a fault. He was also creepily cold-blooded and relentlessly blank. Even when his own planet had fallen to Nero and his parents, along with 90% of his race, had perished, the freak had barely batted an eye.

"None," McCoy confirmed heavily. "She's not even technically sleeping. The wave patterns are more akin to a night terror or a hallucination."

"Then I will make the attempt."

McCoy sighed heavily. "Should I call Pike?"

"If you believe it necessary," said the Vulcan, but his raised eyebrow indicated he found the question illogical. "Go ahead then," McCoy grumbled. "Carefully!"

"Yes," Spock agreed. He aligned his fingers against the woman's face and closed his eyes. He concentrated. "Anything?" the doctor prompted after a few moments.

"Silence would be -" Spock broke off as 'Samantha' stirred, making a distressed noise. All at once her right hand lashed upwards at him. He caught it neatly, betraying only faint surprise. "What the hell was that?" the doctor expostulated.

"She… reacted to my intrusion negatively," Spock surmised.

"She felt you? How is that even possible if she's not cognizant?" He pondered.

"Since we have already posited that her Romulan captors used her for information searches, it is probable that her reactions are defensive." He still held her fist in his hand, delicately, as though it were a bird or a small mammal. "She resists the meld quite effectively. Atypical of a psy-null species. While I hesitate to indulge in conjecture, I believe she is what you would call a… 'fighter.'"

McCoy sat down in his chair. "So she won't let you in, because she thinks you're a Romulan?"

"That is a viable theory."

"…Try again."

"Doctor," Spock said, betraying an unusual measure of agitation. "She clearly does not consent. I am already in breach of protocol."

"Try again, Spock. If she's blocking herself intentionally, she won't wake up until she knows it's safe. Unless you want her to spend the rest of her natural life in a nightmare, you have to try."

Pressing his lips thin, the Vulcan approached the patient once more. He pressed his fingers reluctantly but firmly to her face. He made the connection. _Friend_, he projected. _Safe. Fear not. No war. Waken_.

The woman shot straight upwards, her eyes flying open. She screamed and began to flail. He narrowly avoided being clipped on the ear. In a defensive gesture, he captured her arms and pinned her to the stretcher. The noises issuing from her did not resemble language so much as a series of animalistic sounds as she fought to free herself. An overwhelming fear pulsed off her, and too late Spock realized how much he resembled a Romulan to the untrained eye. "I am Vulcan!" he told her urgently. "This is a Federation ship!"

"Did the Federation even _exist_ when she was alive?" McCoy shouted anxiously from the sidelines.

"A _Starfleet _ship!" Spock amended quickly. "Starfleet. Safe. Home." He felt her calm fractionally. "You are weakened," he told her as the adrenalin drained away and the blood left her cheeks, rendering her pale and fragile. "See your human doctor," he encouraged, jerking his head towards McCoy. "Feel your human clothing." Gradually her gaze flickered. She took in her environment warily. Her eyes returned to him after a brief few seconds. She tugged at her right wrist and he released it gently. She reached up quickly and laid her hand across his forehead, feeling… for brow ridges, he realized. He tolerated this unexpected touch stoically. "Vulcan," he repeated as her hand dropped away.

"I cannot tell you how much she comprehends," he said, turning his attention back to the CMO. "Her mind is fractured and stressed. Were she Vulcan, she would be required to spend a significant amount of time with one of our healers."

"Would they take her in?"

Spock considered. The aftermath of Vulcan's destruction meant that his race's healers were drastically overworked and, as an unfortunate rule, rather leery of outsiders. "Doubtful," he concluded.

"Then we'll have to do the best we can with what we've got. Including you," McCoy determined. Spock inclined his head. "Whatever is necessary," he affirmed.


	3. Chapter 2

****I realize my Jim gets a little super!. I refuse to apologize. Super!Jim is the best.****

"Is she still not talking?" Lieutenant Kirk asked quietly as he walked beside Dr. McCoy through the medical wing.

"Not a word. She seems to understand simple commands but otherwise ignores us. I'm afraid she's despondent, so we've kept her restrained."

"Seriously?" Sam asked, looking incredulous. "You've got her tied to the bed?"

"It's nothing like that!" McCoy protested. "The restraints are perfectly gentle and ergonomic. It's just to keep her from any self-destructive behavior."

"Methinks thou doth protest too much," Sam shot back angrily. The door to sickbay made a completely unnecessary whooshing noise as it opened - onto a rather strange scene. "…Not seeing any restraints there, Leonard," Sam managed. "What the hell…?" McCoy yelled.

'Samantha' stood by the supply wall, calmly typing into the command console. With a 'pop' a surgical locker opened, and she reached a thin hand inside to rummage. "Hey!" McCoy shouted. She ignored him, and he checked himself as she retracted a laser scalpel. "Oh boy. Put that down, honey," he cajoled. Not listening in the slightest, she turned the implement over in her hands, examining it. She pushed the power button and lifted a curious brow as the laser blade sprang forth. "What do you think, Lieutenant?" the doctor said in a low voice. "Should I risk stunning her? Depending on where that thing lands, it could cause some serious damage."

"Just watch for now," Kirk replied cautiously. The two men observed her as she tested the blade against the edge of her hospital gown. She seemed satisfied when it parted the fabric easily. She turned her head up, seemingly examining herself in the reflective surface of the locker. Then she grabbed a hunk of her long tangled hair and neatly sliced through it with the scalpel. McCoy stifled the urge to shout, but couldn't stop himself from fidgeting nervously with his phaser.

Neatly, methodically, 'Samantha' sliced through her hair until the vast majority of it lay on the floor. What was left was a somewhat uneven blond mop ending just above her ears. She checked her reflection again, then deactivated the scalpel and moved to set it in the disinfectant bath. McCoy quickly pulled his weapon. "Hey!" Kirk said sharply, putting a restraining hand on the doctor's arm. "What do you need that for?"

"How in God's name did you get out of the restraints?" McCoy demanded, waving his phaser for emphasis. "For that matter, how did you get into my supply locker?" Blinking, the woman turned foggy eyes to the shouting man in front of her. It was clear by her demeanor that she would not be answering his questions, whether because she didn't understand him or because she was willfully disregarding him. Sam was inclined to think the latter. Various crew members often had a similar response to the doctor's tirades.

There was definitely evidence of Kirk-dom in her face, he decided. Her hair was the same sandy blond as his father's, but the eyes were the true giveaway. Bright, brilliant blue. Yes, he could see being related to this woman. "Maybe we should get Spock back in here," he said as McCoy wound down. "She seems to respond to him."

"If you call screaming like a banshee and clawing at him 'responding,' sure," Bones grumbled. Kirk shrugged. "Better than nothing," he said.

* * *

Spock left second shift and made his way down to the medical quarters, pausing briefly to roll his shoulders when he was sure he was alone. He had agreed to assist the doctor with this particular case, so any feelings of irritation or weariness were illogical. He found his two senior officers neatly gathered around a desk, trying to appear as though they weren't keeping Dr. Kirk obsessively in the periphery of their vision. "No more confinement?" he inquired politely.

"She hacked it," McCoy interjected in a flat tone. "Then she broke into my supply closet and stole a scalpel." Spock nodded. That explained her hair. "Why aren't you surprised?" the doctor snapped peevishly.

"Chief Engineer Kirk was once the foremost expert in starship mechanics, as well as a formidable code-writer. I would find myself more… _surprised_… if your security protocols presented difficulty to her." Watching her body language, he moved towards her and took a seat beside her cot. "Are you comfortable?" he asked her solemnly. She tilted her head, regarding him assessingly. "As I have previously stated, I am not here to do you harm. My culture, for the most part, is peaceful and dedicated to harmony. If you like, I can procure a translation of Surak's main philosophies for your perusal."

Her hand rose, coming towards his face. "Sammy, that's rude!" Lieutenant Kirk scolded. "Vulcans don't like to be touched!" The woman's lips pursed briefly. "I do not believe she likes that moniker," Spock remarked. There was no point in correcting the Lieutenant; it was true Spock avoided touching the human crew whenever possible; their negative emotions towards him made such encounters exceedingly disconcerting. He turned his attention back to his charge. "If it provides you comfort, I will permit physical contact," he told her. With a faint smile, she reached out and brushed her fingertips over his forehead as she had done when she'd first awoken. They tingled against his skin, but the sensation was not unpleasant. He felt irrationally gratified by her gradual return to reason, as though he had assisted in the creation of something fine. "Are you satisfied?" he asked her after a moment. She drew away soundlessly.

"Still not talking," Kirk noted sadly. Spock stifled a tinge of impatience. Humans were notoriously desirous of instant gratification. "Samantha?" Kirk attempted, approaching the cot. Spock noted the slight tensing of the woman's musculature. "I'm George Samuel Kirk, son of the same. I'm your… nephew, I guess."

The woman appeared to focus. "Do you know what year it is?" Kirk prompted gently. "Sam…" McCoy warned, but the Lieutenant ignored him. "It's 2262."

Dr. Kirk's eyes clouded over, in thought or in ignorance only telepathy would tell. She turned her head away from the crew members in an obvious dismissal. "Samantha," Kirk murmured miserably.

"I believe she has processed enough input for today," Spock said at last. McCoy nodded in reluctant agreement. "Gentlemen, let us depart."

* * *

"God damn it Chris, I'm a doctor, not a babysitter!" McCoy bellowed furiously. His underlying anxiety was effectively masked by his anger… if you were a human observer. Spock, however, found the entire charade risible. (If he were prone to laughter, which he was not.)

"I'm sorry," Pike replied in what was an attempt at a reasonable tone. "I'm just having a little difficulty believing that one half-dressed woman has managed to escape the Enterprise without using the shuttle or the transporter. If you have another explanation, feel free to voice it now."

"She has to be onboard," McCoy fretted restlessly. "There isn't a habitable planet within 8 light years. I checked!"

"Well, Doc, if she were on the ship, her vitals would show up, wouldn't they?" said Pike in his most captain-y voice.

"Hmm," said Spock.

"Hmm what?" snapped McCoy.

"She is probably on the Engineering Deck," Spock suggested. When they looked at him blankly, he elaborated. "Given that an unknown user accessed the ship's engine specifications approximately four standard hours ago, it would seem a likely locale."

"She ent down here," Scotty stated firmly after the initial onslaught. "I keep me deck clean! Nowhere for any beasties to hide!"

"I see," said Spock skeptically.

"Go on then, you tell me where a body might be!" Scott challenged. Ambling away from the knot of senior officers, Spock observed the engine room. Then looked up, at the vast network of criss-crossed tubing and valves. His eyes settled on a L-join near the bulkhead. "There," he said.

"No way," said Pike.

"I've already tried getting up there, ye canna do it withow' a scaffold," Ensign Scott added.

"Nevertheless," said Spock smoothly, striding over to stand under the indicated area. He cleared his throat. "Dr. Kirk?" he called. No answer.

"I tell ye -"

"Dr. Kirk, if you would please join us, I believe Mr. Scott would like to show you his newly revised theory of trans-warp beaming," Spock stated. While the others continued to make dismissive noises, he waited in silence, until a ragged blond head popped over the metal side of the join and everyone fell silent. "Perhaps nourishment is also in order?" Spock added reasonably.

"How the hell did she get up there?" Pike breathed.

"It really _is_ a neat bit o' maths!" Scotty shouted, belatedly playing along.

Pike watched as the woman stood and unwound a length of flexible steel cable from her waist. He recognized the instrument as a magnetic fastener - programmable electromagnetic tips on each end allowed the user to secure cargo to any surface, providing it had an ionic charge. With a few swipes and twists, Samantha programmed one end. She then swung the cord in her hands like a slingshot and threw it towards the bulkhead. It connected with a thunk and stuck, creating a kind of rope ladder. She grasped the cable and swung away from her perch, sliding down to the floor. Simple. "Never thought of that," Scotty murmured to himself. Pike whistled appreciatively.

The cable stopped about four feet from the floor, and Spock chivalrously reached up and lifted her down by the waist. She input a command into the other end of the fastener and caught the whole apparatus neatly as it tumbled down from the ceiling, ignoring the way McCoy and Scotty ducked. She returned it to its coil around her waist and cocked her head at the Chief Engineer expectantly.

McCoy whipped out a hypospray, ready for action, but Spock shook his head at him. "I do not believe that is wise," he cautioned. "The hell it isn't!" McCoy insisted, but Pike placed a hand on the CMO's arm. "Leave it."

Scotty had shuffled the woman to his work console, rubbing his hands together in abject excitement. As he pulled up his formula, he kept darting glances at her face to gauge her reaction. She touched the screen. "Ye see, if space is the thing that's moving, then triangulating the other points becomes simple!" he told her enthusiastically. She nodded, manipulating the graphic and studying it from various angles.

Dr. McCoy made an abortive movement towards them, but Spock beat him to it. "Are you experiencing hunger?" he asked the woman lightly. "There are replicators located on each deck, but perhaps the ship's 'mess hall' would prove the most convenient location? It is equipped to manufacture a number of traditional Terran foods." She stared at him, but did not speak. "If you would specify your preference, I can acquire a dish for you," Spock continued.

She moved towards him. Then, reluctantly, she leaned towards his ear. Surprised but not discomfited, he bent his head down and allowed her to whisper something to him. His expression settled fractionally. "I see," he said. "That is a development I should have anticipated."

"What?" Pike demanded.

"Our guest does not speak modern Standard," Spock explained.


	4. Chapter 3

****Note: Jim is not really speaking like a medieval knight. But then again, everybody in this story is technically speaking post-Warp Standard, so… this is how I imagine her sounding to a 'modern' speaker.****

The mess hall proved a mistake. One glimpse of so much space filled with so many warm bodies had sent Dr. Kirk into a state of near-panic. Disregarding the reactions of the human officers, Spock had neatly guided her away towards an empty corridor. He felt, more than heard, her respirations slow to normal. "If you would prefer, we may eat in my quarters," he suggested neutrally. She glanced up at him, then nodded.

He found himself oddly protective of the human woman. Perhaps it was the fact that in some ways, they were experiencing similar circumstances. Both were out of place - he trapped in a strange culture, she trapped out of her own time. In quite another way, he could not quantify his reactions. Spock had always been unusually… stoic, even for a member of Vulcan society. Repeated attempts to bind him to suitable partners had failed. This was presumed at the time to be the result of his mixed heritage. He, however, believed differently. His mother Amanda had been a warm and exceptionally perceptive Terran, one well-attuned to the emanations of all life-forms. He himself lacked this gift. He was, despite all odds, the culmination of Vulcan suppression - a paragon of control.

Until now.

The door to his room whooshed open, and he indicated that she should enter before him. He watched as she scanned the environment, noting exits and possible weapons. He approved of her foresight. Finally satisfied, she made her way to the center of the room and waited. "Do you have a preference?" he asked her as he moved towards his replicator.

She tilted her head. "Dost thou… have hamburgers?" she asked him tentatively. Her accent was thick, but she seemed to be absorbing Standard at an admirable rate. He typed in the correct code and waited while the machine produced enough "hamburger molecules" for a meal (a phrase he parsed from Ensign Chekov, who had evidently been attempting introduce him to the concept of Terran 'humor' over breakfast). He then ordered himself a vegetarian pasta dish, one of the few he found palatable. Replicator fare left much to be desired in the way of taste, but it provided the essential nutrients and was therefore satisfactory. They settled together at his cramped dinner table.

She watched him as he took a bite of food, then turned her attention to her own. She took an experimental taste. She made a face. "Hast thy replicator been improperly maintenanced?" she asked in response to his questioning look. "It is functioning normally," he answered, somewhat bemused. "Hmm," she intoned, glaring at the nourishment in her hands. Evidently resigning herself, she began to eat again, closing her eyes as she did so. Once she had consumed a reasonable amount of calories, she deposited the remains on her plate and stood to place the tray in the recycler. "The ship's resident physician has advised me to regulate my consumption," she explained to him diffidently, "as I am newly awakened." He inclined his head to show his comprehension. Having disposed of her flatware, she collapsed upon his seldom-used sofa with a faintly pained sigh.

"Verily, I am fatigued!" she huffed. Her tone indicated exasperation.

"Your muscles have atrophied after your extended stint in stasis," he offered. "You would be benefited by undertaking an exercise regimen to rebuild your physique and stamina."

"So thy physician stated," she responded, somewhat dryly. "He is, I believe the word is… an unmitigated nag?"

"His approach is unorthodox," Spock agreed.

"Still, I admire his moxie," said the woman thoughtfully. "He does not treat me as a fragile flower of womanhood. Tis quite refreshing."

Spock was unsure how to properly respond to such a statement. "Your Standard is already improving, Dr. Kirk," he said instead.

"Thou mayst call me Jim," she said amiably. Presumably she saw something in his face, though he believed he was well within his normal neutral limits. "If thee so chooses, of course."

He stifled a frown. He felt, unaccountably, as though he were being put to the test. "Jim," he tried, experimentally.

She smiled at him, giving him the full effect of her startlingly blue eyes. He could calculate the precise sequence of Terran genes that lead to such eyes - he could even trace them back from the genome of her blue-eyed relation - but he felt, irrationally, that hers were the bluest he had ever encountered. Perhaps it was the unnatural paleness of her skin, no doubt a result of her long sleep, that set them so ablaze. Indeed it must be. Logically it must be so.

"I shall repair thy replicator," she told him. Lost in foolish contemplation, he could only nod.

* * *

"Captain Override 7-7-4-Alpha-2," Pike told the door. It remained stubbornly closed. "God damn it, why won't this thing open?" he shouted.

Spock had escorted Jim to her temporary guest quarters at 22:02 ships' hours two evenings previous, and had experienced an illogical burst of relief when he noted her accommodations were within easy walking distance of his own. "It is likely that Dr. Kirk has once again gained access to the ship's security protocols," he told the Captain.

"And how, pray tell, would she do that? I thought she was from the 22nd century? She doesn't even speak Standard for Christ's sake!" He turned to his second, who was standing rather forlornly at his six. "Sam, have you been able to get through?"

"No sir," said the Lieutenant. "I don't think she likes me, sir." His face was forlorn.

Pike looked thoughtful. "Interesting. Why don't you try, Spock? She seemed to take a shine to you." Spock raised an eyebrow, but this was all the insubordination he was willing to perpetuate. He stepped up to the security pad.

"Jim," he intoned quietly. The door slid open. "Eureka!" Pike cried, moving forward, until a decidedly non-regulation laser beam drew an emphatic line on the floor where his feet were about to be. "Shit!"

Spock, having been fairly assured of his own welcome, entered the room. He found a rather disheveled blond creature at the room's access terminal. Her eyes did not leave the screen. "Dr. Jim," he greeted. She raised a hand and flickered her fingers at him in a presumably friendly way. Behind him the door snicked shut, closing out the startled Captain and his second. "Do you care to explain why you have warded your doors against all other visitors?"

"Dangerous," she replied abruptly, focused on her reading. Her hand moved restlessly across the holo-pad. If she was fully reading the words that flickered across the screen, her pace was impressive.

"On what basis do you declare them dangerous?" he asked curiously. "By my own calculations, you are quite safe aboard this vessel."

"Too many variables. Not enough data," she said distractedly. "Hmm… by the way, Spock, there isn't a lot of data on Vulcan food. In order to fully calibrate your replicator, I need a precise molecular analysis of the dishes you want to reproduce." He noted that her Standard had improved dramatically. "Why?" he asked simply. In answer, she waved at her own pseudo-kitchen. "Try the broccoli," she suggested. Confused, he moved to obey.

The item the replicator produced was not visually different from the Terran vegetable he had previously consumed, but its olfactory properties were certainly more intense. With a measure of well-hidden trepidation he lifted the item to his mouth and took a bite. He blinked.

"The flavor is remarkably vivid," he said, startled.

"That's how broccoli is _supposed_ to taste," Jim shot back, still typing.

"And how, may I ask, did you achieve this improvement?" He felt his own eyebrow creeping towards his hairline, but could not stop it.

"I analyzed the modifications to the original replicator routine," she told him absent-mindedly. "I discovered a subroutine installed in 2201 that was intended to reduce energy usage. Its designation was to translate complex molecules into simpler standard forms with the same nutritional value, however the effect appears to be… blandness. After checking the Enterprise's power expenditure, I determined that reverting the program to my original specifications would not create an onerous energy burden; it appears this century's technology is sufficiently advanced to produce a surplus of energy." She paused to take a breath. "Voila. Realistic broccoli."

Spock's eyebrow was, as Pike would say, 'out of control.' "The phrase 'my original specifications' indicates that you programmed the first replicators," he said incredulously.

"Yeah," said Jim. "Who else?"

Who else indeed, Spock thought. "I admit to some curiosity. How did you come about this technology?"

"Teleporters," said Jim, as if that explained everything. Spock stifled a most uncharacteristic urge to groan. "If you would clarify," he prompted.

"When the teleporter energizes, it temporarily stores a complete database of the object it is teleporting," Jim said. "Molecules, structures, protein folds - it's all in there. Really excellent for human beings. Also for quarter-pounders."

"I am afraid I do not know this… quarter pounder," Spock replied, and was alarmed that his voice came out nearer to a growl than a conversational tone.

"It's a hamburger, Spock," said Jim, finally looking up from her work.

"You enjoy _hamburgers_," said the Vulcan in what was certainly not an accusatory tone. Because that would be unreasonable.

"Um, yes. They are tasty," said Jim bemusedly. Those blue eyes were back on him. Spock, incredibly, felt the urge to fidget. "Look, if you want Vulcan food, just have one of your friends beam some aboard. I'll siphon the data from Engineering and program it in."

He realized this conversation was rapidly getting out of hand. "Captain Pike and Lieutenant Kirk are anxious to speak with you, and I am given to understand that CMO McCoy would also like to re-examine your health parameters. Are you aware of their attempts to contact you?"

"Yeah, yeah," said Jim, waving a delicate hand at him.

"Then why do you not respond?"

Jim rubbed a hand over her unkempt hair. "I dunno. They're kind of creepy, you know? I just want to be left alone."

Spock was unsure what prompted his next statement. Nevertheless it left his mouth. "And yet you allow me access."

"Sure," said Jim. "I programmed your harmonics into the security panel."

"Why…?" Spock pressed.

"I like you," said Jim with a dazzling smile, and his mind short-circuited. "You're sweet."

"I am not _sweet_!" he protested. Rather loudly. What was the _matter_ with him?

"Oh," said Jim in a suspiciously bland tone. "My mistake." She turned her eyes back to the holo screen. From his vantage point, he could see a detailed diagram of the ship's warp drive. With small, deft fingers she made minute adjustments to the structure. "So," she continued, "what's your favorite food? Maybe I could find a molecular analysis on the web."

He inched quietly forward, following her progress over her shoulder. "I find plomeek soup quite palatable," he said distantly. "It was a favorite of my mother's."

"Cool," said Jim. "I'll see what I can find."

* * *

Samantha Jameson Kirk eventually ceded to the will of her Vulcan acquaintance and allowed the ship's senior officers into her guest quarters, followed by a rhapsodic Scotty, who had not been seen without a sandwich in hand for an alarming amount of time. He waved a malodorous 'Reuben' in Dr. Kirk's face upon their second meeting and grasped her reluctant hand in a fervent shake. "God bless ye!" the engineer had declared. Spock had noted the tension in her body and had quickly intervened, moving in between her and the Scotsman diplomatically. The relieved smile he'd gotten in return had absolutely _not_ caused his ears to turn green.

Spock observed that her linguistic interactions with other members of the crew were infrequent and stilted. They did not resemble in the slightest the detailed conversations he and she had shared on other occasions. Unless he accompanied her, she seemed unwilling to leave her quarters. Nevertheless she gradually seemed to 'warm up' to her great-great-great-nephew the Lieutenant, and in conjunction the Captain.

He felt no particular way about this development. Feeling was illogical.

Pike spent the better part of a week encouraging his guest to mingle with the crew. So it was that this evening, she was accompanying the off-duty bridge officers to the mess hall. Without visible hesitation, she stepped through the entrance and moved towards the replicator line, selecting a meal. If she glanced back at Spock a few more times than was necessary to discern his position, he politely pretended to ignore it.

Selecting his own food, he observed her progress. Many members of the crew approached her to greet her or thank her for the improved replicators, and she responded appropriately, if reservedly. She took a seat and twirled a fork in her pasta.

He observed as a cadet named Gary Mitchell approached her. Spock had always found the cadet distasteful, although he couldn't quite determine why, and had therefore dismissed his intuitions as unfounded. Mitchell seemed quite popular among his peers, apparently achieving a number of sexual conquests from among their numbers. Mitchell perched himself beside Dr. Kirk, leaning conspiratorially into her space. Startled, she accepted his overtures, timidly engaging in conversation - until Mitchell slid a covert hand around her waist.

In a flash too quick for the typical human eye to detect, Jim had Mitchell on the floor with a bloody lip and her dainty boot against his throat. "What the hell?" Mitchell managed in a choked rasp.

"Don't you _fucking touch me_!" she hissed. Her delicate face was contorted, feral. "_Never_! Never without my permission! Say it, you son of a _bitch_!"

"The fuck I will, you crazy cunt!" Mitchell managed, until she pressed harder and his face began to turn purple. Pike moved swiftly to intervene, but he made the mistake of coming up behind her, and she lashed out with a wild arm. "NO!" she shrieked, clearly frantic.

Spock slid forth, in-between his Captain and his… friend? "Dr. Kirk," he ventured, but her dilated eyes did not see him. "_Jim_," he tried. She turned her head.

"Jim," he repeated quietly. "Shall we eat in my quarters?" She blinked. As if realizing her surroundings, she lifted her foot off of Cadet Mitchell's neck. Mitchell seemed inclined to retaliate, but a fierce look from the Science Officer had him rapidly retreating. "That would be nice," said Jim dazedly. She reached out and clasped his hand.

She was pre-Federation, he reminded himself, as he combated the influx of shock. She had no concept of Vulcan etiquette. She acted as a human in need of protection and reassurance. She could not know the effect her slender digits were having against his (agonizingly) sensitive palm.

The flutter of her feelings invaded his mind. Panic, distress, that he could handle, but… that last wash of emotion… trust. Affection. Need. If he were human, he would tremble in its wake.

Resolutely, he tightened his fingers around hers and led her from the room. "I put your soup in," she told him shakily. "I hope I got it right."

"I will try it tonight," he said. "If your previous experiments are representative of your success rate, I anticipate a satisfactory meal."


	5. Chapter 4

****Hey, just checking in to say how much I love and appreciate everyone who takes the time to favorite and review. It really does mean so much. Also, every time I get a notification, it gives me a chance to kind of... visit? Meet new people? That's how it feels to me anyways. Some of my favorite fics have come from your own fav lists, and even your own stories. So, erm, thanks. Aw shucks.****

Her endeavors indeed proved enjoyable. "This is quite adequate," he told her in between mouthfuls of soup.

"I tried it," she said nonchalantly. "It tastes… orange," she concluded.

"It tastes orange," he repeated doubtfully. "I cannot speculate as to your meaning."

"Eh," said Jim, completely failing to clarify. He sighed.

"Dr. Jim," he said. "Why did you react to Cadet Mitchell in such a violent manner?" Her gaze flicked away. "I don't know what you mean," she said disingenuously.

"You incapacitated him and restricted his airflow. Surely a simple verbal repudiation would have sufficed," Spock stated reasonably.

"Huh," said Jim.

"Did you, perhaps, recall a negative experience when he touched your abdomen?" Spock conjectured. He got a flash of blue eyes for that, and they weren't particularly friendly. "Could be," his companion replied frostily.

"Jim…" He made an attempt to control his tone. "When you were aboard the Romulan ship, did your captors…"

"You know what, Spock?" Jim interrupted. "This isn't really the greatest dinner conversation. Maybe we could talk about the warp drive specs."

"I ask because your reaction is indicative of physical trauma, particularly following sexual assault -"

"JUST DROP IT!" Jim snarled, standing abruptly. Her posture was angry, aggressive. He stared. She glanced away, hunching into herself protectively. "Fuck," she cursed softly.

He felt unaccountably ashamed. "I apologize," he said gently. "My line of questioning was exceedingly inappropriate." She sighed. She did not look at him, and something in his gut twisted.

"Okay. It's fine." She straightened her spine suddenly, and he could hear the air pockets in her vertebrae audibly release. "Hey, listen, I'm kind of tired… can we call it a night?"

"Jim?" he queried.

"I'm just really sleepy all of a sudden," she told him in an unconvincing tone. He stood but hesitated. "Go on," she ordered. "I'll… talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

"Very well," he said, giving in. He looked back at her as he exited, but her body was turned away.

* * *

She did not talk to him tomorrow. In fact, she spent the majority of the week either in her quarters, or deep in conversations with Ensign Scott. By the end of their deliberations the warp drive capabilities had increased by a factor of 1.5, and Starfleet Command had taken notice. Captain Pike had belatedly relayed the details of Dr. Kirk's rescue to his superiors, and their reaction was explosive. Consequently Jim had retreated, re-locking the door to her room with impenetrable codes.

On the third day of her self-imposed sabbatical, Spock discovered his harmonics had been removed from her security programs.

On the fourth day, instructions came for the Enterprise to proceed to the edge of the neutral zone around the new Vulcan colony. Sightings of strange ships had been reported. Pike ordered his pilot, an ingenue named Hikaru Sulu, to set a course.

* * *

"Why is it ALWAYS ROMULANS?" Pike bellowed as the ship took another hit.

"I don't know, sir!" Sam answered gamely.

"Shields at 45%," said Sulu briskly.

"Captain!" Scotty's voice crackled over the com. "They're boarding!"

"Sulu, evasive maneuvers! Scotty, power to forward shields! Giotto, security to deck five!" Pike fired off rapidly. "Spock, head to engineering and put a fire under their ass!"

Spock longed to ask what flames under one's posterior would achieve, but he obediently dashed for the bridge entrance. He slid into the elevator gracefully and punched in the deck. As the doors opened again, he was confronted by chaos. He fired his weapon, taking down one invader after another, then headed for the engine room.

It appeared to be empty, but he ducked through anyways, checking any potential hiding spots. His focus was such that he didn't see the Romulan officer behind him until it was too late. Metal flashed, flaying the skin over his kidneys and heart and dropping him to the floor.

If Spock were prone to cursing, which he was not, now would be the time.

"A Vulcan," his enemy hissed gleefully in Romulan. "I should keep you alive. My Orion contacts are eager to purchase specimens of such an… endangered species."

"I advise you to press your advantage while you can," Spock replied coldly in the same language. "For if I am afforded a similar opportunity, I will surely kill you."

"So talented!" the Romulan chortled. "Tell me Vulcan, do you speak many languages? I ask because our clients pay more if you can beg for mercy in their native tongue." With the toe of his boot, he not-so-gently rolled Spock over onto his bleeding back. Spock gave no sign of pain. He kept his face stoic, his eyes open to his death. He worked his dry mouth, finally summoning enough saliva to spit on his enemy's shoe. "Perhaps I could keep you for my own," the Romulan mused. "It would be an exquisite pleasure, putting you in your place."

"Still a sadistic little QI'yaH," said a clear human voice. A surge of vicious pleasure coursed through Spock's numbing limbs at the sight of Jim Kirk's phaser pressed against his captor's temple. "Step away from my comrade," Jim continued. "And drop that fucking toothpick of a knife, you stupid shit."

"Ahh, my favorite sahe'lagge," the man crooned, even as he obediently moved back. "Did you miss my cock in you, sweet one? Because I missed _you_."

"Barely noticed it when it was there," she rejoined pleasantly. "You should really get that looked at."

"Arrogant bitch," the Romulan snarled. "Your hands tremble on the gun as your Vulcan master bleeds out on the floor. Soon I will have your mind again under my hand!"

"You know what?" said Jim thoughtfully. "You're right." With a quick jerk of her finger, she shot the Romulan through the head, leaving him a steaming pile of bone and fluid on the floor. She knelt rapidly by Spock's side, tilting him and palpating his wound. "Damn, you really are bleeding," she muttered.

"You could have stunned him," Spock said dizzily.

"I could have, couldn't I?" In what he was beginning to recognize was typical Jim unpredictability, she pulled a dermal regenerator from her brassiere. "What setting?" she asked.

"28, I believe," he replied faintly. He heard her spin the dial. She applied the instrument to his wounds. He felt his tissue knit together, although it could not replace the blood he'd lost. "Think you can stand?" Jim asked him, and he struggled to respond.

"Not without assistance," he admitted at last.

"Come on then," she said, threading a slender arm under his. With surprising strength she levered him onto his feet. "Try to keep up," she admonished. "There's at least three more of them on board, and I've got some scores to settle."

* * *

True to her word, Jim reduced two more Romulans to piles of indefinable mush before Ensign Chekov managed to disengage the enemy's tractor beam. With the Enterprise's new warp capabilities, the Romulan ship had no hope of catching them. Emitting a faintly weary sigh, Jim deposited Spock on a gurney in sickbay. "There you go, Bones," she quipped to the doctor. "Oughta keep you busy for a while."

"Why do you call Dr. McCoy 'Bones'?" Spock queried tiredly.

Jim shrugged, perching on the mattress next to him. "Cause that's his name?" she ventured.

"His name is Leonard," Spock pointed out.

"You get extra logical when you're wounded," Jim remarked, patting his hand.

"Damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a machine!" McCoy snarled, hopping from patient to patient.

"Atta boy, Bones!" she encouraged. Her hand was still in contact with Spock's fingers. Worry, regret, and deep affection bled relentlessly into his skin. "You are sad," he croaked. "Why are you sad?" She glanced down at him, her eyes glowing like stars.

"Mmm," she sighed. He did not break eye contact. He clenched his hand around hers. "Look, I… I'm sorry I freaked out on you," she said abruptly. He blinked. "You were right, okay? Some shit went down on that research ship. I don't like to think about it, but I should probably try to… come to terms with it. You know?" Her thumb began to move, making distracting little circles on the center of his palm. "I'd hate to think the last memory you had of me was me… being an ass."

"You are not an 'ass,' Jim," Spock said seriously. "You are a remarkably strong individual." She smiled at him. He swallowed.

"You're too good to me," she told him. Sleep was rapidly overtaking him. He clung to the sensation of her touch. "Never," he sighed, before darkness consumed him.


	6. Chapter 5

****It has come to my attention that I have been misspelling/mispronouncing the very title of my fic. I am extremely ashamed. I hope I've caught every instance of my mistake and replaced it, but my only excuse is that I regrettably do not yet speak Vulcan. -bows head- Forgive me?****

* * *

Vulcans were by nature a hardy species, and though his contemporaries wouldn't admit it, Spock had acquired a kind of hybrid vigor from his unusual genetics. Despite the Enterprise's limited resources concerning 'alien' healthcare, Spock was able to recover fully from his ordeal within two Standard days.

Immune to Dr. McCoy's incessant surliness, Jim visited often. She persisted in referring to the doctor as 'Bones'; to Spock's internal surprise, the CMO submitted to this unusual appellation with relative grace. Now that she had overcome a measure of her initial wariness, Jim demonstrated a remarkable ability to be what other humans would deem 'charming.'

Spock was not charmed, because that would be pointless and unnecessary. Even when Nurse Chapel arrived with an evening meal of quite satisfactory ulan soup and kreyla that Jim had no doubt reproduced after extensive research.

After being granted a requisite period for meditation, Spock returned to his duties. He steadfastly ignored any gestures of concern (including a particularly distasteful display from the Communications Officer) and politely declined to respond to inquiries, citing a backlog of work. Scrolling through his PADD, he quickly determined that Jim had been productive during his absence. Accustomed to taking his lunch period with her in his quarters, he found himself stymied when she did not appear. Evidently she was 'holed up' with Lieutenant Scott, working to decipher the Romulan cloaking technology Pike had salvaged from the ChR Nei'rrh.

He approached the door to her quarters later that evening. Experimentally, he announced his presence to her security console, and was shamefully pleased when the door whooshed open without complaint. He was met with the increasingly familiar sight of Jim ensconced at her desk, hair wild and face rapt. "When is the last time you partook of nourishment?" he asked her, and had the pleasure of seeing her jump in her seat.

"Oh! Spock. Hey," she said distractedly. "I was just trying to untangle this line of code... did you ask me a question? Um, right, I don't know."

"You... do not know if I asked you a question, or you do not know when you last ate?"

"The latter," she replied with a small smile.

"I will replicate something for you," he said stiffly.

"Hamburger?"

"Jim," he sighed. "Your predilection for hamburgers is detrimental to your physical health."

"You sound like Bones," she griped good-naturedly. "Okay, okay. Salad's cool." She thought about it briefly. "Ranch?" she ventured hopefully.

"Oil and vinegar," he responded firmly. "Damn it," she muttered. He began entering the corresponding codes. The room filled with silence, but it was not uncomfortable. "I..." he began. She looked up and him and smiled again, and he momentarily lost his train of thought. "I enjoyed your rendition of ulan soup," he concluded.

"Did you?" she crowed happily. "I worked pretty hard on that one."

"Perhaps when we next visit the Vulcan colony, we can arrange to have additional foodstuffs beamed aboard and their chemical structures retrieved from Lieutenant Scott's databanks. If it is acceptable."

"Totally. It must get really boring eating the same thing day after day."

He pursed his lips. "All of my nutritional requirements are met by the ship's current selections." He retrieved her supper and placed it near her elbow, already aware that she would not stop what she was doing to eat properly. "Nevertheless, your... courtesy... to me is appreciated." She stabbed a fork into her salad and took an audible bite. "It's no problem, man," she said through a mouthful of food, and Spock resisted the urge to sigh again. "Chew," he told her instead.

"Hey Spock, do you like seafood?" she asked him solemnly.

"I do not," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, fuck. There goes my joke."

* * *

"Captain?" said Lieutenant Uhura hesitantly. "Admiral Archer is on the line."

A litany of curses streamed through Pike's head. Admiral Archer was 140 years old, a confirmed curmudgeon, and indisputably the most powerful man in Starfleet. When he hauled his creaky ass out of bed to talk to you in person, that meant some major fuckery was afoot. "Commander Spock, Lieutenant Kirk, come with me to the Ready Room. Lieutenant Sulu, you have the conn."

"Yes, sir," Sulu responded. Pike and his second and third made their way to the elevator.

"Captain Pike, Starfleet received your report on the Romulan attack," Archer said as they settled into their chairs. "I don't have to tell you that hostile actions from the Empire in Vulcan neutral space are incredibly troubling."

"Agreed, sir," said Pike.

"What I'm about to say to you is extremely classified. We don't have all the facts yet, but there are a number of indications to suggest that the Romulans and the Klingons are forming an alliance, to unknown purpose. What we do know is that the Klingons officially broke off their treaty with the Orions two weeks ago. The attack on the Enterprise has generated serious concerns for the safety of the colonists on New Vulcan."

Pike glanced at his Science Officer, but the Commander was as placid and unreadable as ever. "Have you conveyed any of this information to the High Council?" he asked.

"Of course," Archer groused. "And we're sending out teams to evacuate any Vulcan citizens that wish to leave. But the response from T'Pau hasn't been particularly reassuring. I'll send over a brief of our communication so far. In the meantime, your new mission is to protect the colony at all costs. Maintain perimeter searches. Report sightings of unregistered space-craft straight to the Admiralty Board, direct to my attention. Is this understood?"

"Yes, Admiral," Pike said firmly.

"Archer out," said the Admiral, and his face disappeared from the screen.

"You get those reports on the High Council yet, Spock?" Pike asked.

"Yes, Captain." Spock scrolled through his PADD.

"Read them and forward me the salient facts. One hour."

* * *

Spock finished the brief in 43.25 minutes. He sent it to the Captain, then made his way to his quarters, more than ready for his evening meditation. Instead he found Jim at his desk, reading the very same report he'd just summarized.

"That information was marked classified," he told her tiredly.

"Was it?" Jim asked casually. "Oops."

"You are incorrigible."

"Tea?" she asked him cheerfully.

"I…"

"Here." She placed something in his hands, having evidently prepared it before he arrived. It was redolent of citrus and eucalyptus. He felt his muscles begin to unknot at the aroma alone. "So, your colony's in trouble, huh?"

"So it would seem," he said. Giving in to fatigue and the inevitability of Jim's voracious curiosity, he sat on the sofa and took an exploratory sip of his beverage.

"And your grand poo-bah lady doesn't want to hear it," Jim summarized.

"From context, I extrapolate that you are referring to T'Pau." The tea was pleasant. He drank more deeply. "She is not convinced that evacuation is an acceptable course of action at this juncture, no."

"Oh," said Jim, a little sadly, and he found his tension returning. From his observations, at this point in the interaction a human woman would be compelled to offer him some sort of… emotional comfort, which invariably involved personal contact of an inappropriate and overwhelming nature. Example A: Nyota Uhura following him into the lift after the loss of his mother and his planet and pressing her tumultuous, pity-ridden lips all over his face.

Jim did not follow this pattern. Jim went over to his bed, flopped down on it bonelessly, and said, "Well, shit. That bites the big one, huh?"

His lips twitched involuntarily. "To my knowledge, the Lady T'Pau does not bite any one, big or otherwise. Nevertheless I concur with the sentiment. As Lieutenant Sulu would say, the entire situation 'sucks ass.'"

Jim snickered, hugging herself. "You're probably the funniest dude I know," she declared. "Also… dang, your bed is really soft. I like this bed."

"It is of the same manufacture as your own bed."

"Hey, Spock?"

"Yes, Jim."

"When Admiral Archer asked T'Pau what her logical argument was against evacuation, she said some weird Vulcan word."

Spock thought back to the report. "Yes. She said, '_Kaiidth_.'"

"I couldn't find a translation," Jim prompted.

"It…" Spock paused, attempting to arrange his words. "It is a difficult concept to articulate in Standard. _Kaiidth_ is considered one of the principles of Surak, but it has its roots in pre-Surakian culture. Loosely it can be translated as, 'What is, is.' More specifically in this context, it is meant to convey T'Pau's belief that one cannot… cheat destiny. What will be will be. If the Vulcan race is doomed to fade from this reality, T'Pau, and perhaps other members of the High Council, would rather see their ends with dignity, in keeping with their beliefs. They… accept the possibility that this… struggle… may result in destruction." He broke off, finding himself unable to continue without betraying his unease.

Jim was quiet for some time. "You know, I have a lot of responses I could give to that, but none of them are particularly helpful because it all just makes me angry."

"I am unsurprised," Spock replied (not fondly, because Vulcans do not get _fond_). "You are not one to go down without a fight. It is not your nature."

She smiled at him. Oh, that smile. "You're so right, damn you. But I do get the concept on some level. On pre-warp Earth, the French had a saying sort of like that. It was 'que sera, sera.' You know that one?"

"I do," he said, eyebrow shifting upwards.

"Hah," she snorted. "You don't like it either." She shifted on the bed, tangling herself in his blankets, and he wondered absently if they would smell of her when she left. "You know what I think?"

"I confess, I do not."

"I think you're just like me, even though you won't admit it. I think you want to fight this shit with all you've got." He blinked at her. "Don't even give me the crazy eyebrows right now. It's a good thing."

He sighed. "I have finished my beverage. Might I inquire the name of it? I would not be averse to reproducing it in the future."

"Gypsy tea," she told him. "And hey. Just so you know, I'm fighting with you. Kay?"

This time he could not help himself. He tore his gaze away from her shining eyes and turned his head to hide the smile that threatened to break free.


	7. Chapter 6

A nice, quiet rotation around New Vulcan. Right. At least it wasn't Romulans, Sam thought hysterically.

"Bridge to engineering -"

"Forward shields at 15% -"

"Weapons are not responding -"

"On it!" Jim snapped, shoving Ensign Chekov to the side. Her fingers swarmed across holo keys.

"Captain, we are being hailed," Lieutenant Uhura called.

"Put it on screen," Pike ordered. She complied, and the face of a one-eyed Klingon shimmered into focus on the main screen.

"Greetings, Captain," rumbled the creature in passable Standard.

"Sir," Pike answered. "Why do you attack us?"

"You are in my way," said the Klingon simply. "As a courtesy, I hail you so that you may know the name and face of your demise - General Chang of the Dakronh. May you meet your deaths with whatever honor you possess."

"Wait a minute!" said Pike. "There is no need for violence. Let us determine a mutual solution to our problem."

"Indeed, your actions are illogical and unnecessary," Spock added calmly. As a student of many cultures, he knew his words would not help.

The General made a disgusted noise and moved his massive hand in a cutting gesture. "Cease your pathetic sniveling, human, and accept your place beneath our heel!"

An unexpected voice cut through the stifling air. "I beg your _fucking_ pardon," said Jim as she stood, "but where the hell do you get off calling us pathetic when you're the ones firing experimental disruptors on a research vessel?" Pike stood to reprimand her, but stopped when he saw the man on-screen turn.

General Chang paused, and his face momentarily reflected surprise. "Who addresses me?" he demanded.

"I am Samantha Jameson Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise," she said proudly. "And you... you're a bully."

"Ignorant P'Tok," Chang scoffed.

"Twice reviled blHnuch!" she shot back fearlessly. The crew stared. Chang roared.

"You are like a grub worming in the dark, blind and consuming your neighbor's filth!" he bellowed.

"And you are like a pujwI' crushing ants beneath your feet to feel mighty!" she challenged.

"bIjatlh 'e' yImev! If you were a man, I would prove upon your puling body the might of my fists!"

"If you are too low to fight a woman, bring forth your mother," Jim said coldly. "I will accept her in your stead." Lieutenant Uhura sucked in a horrified breath, but General Chang was eyeing Jim with something akin to grudging respect.

"Very well, qoH," he said after a pause. "You will be permitted to board my ship." His eyes gleamed. "There your human crew will witness as I rend your limbs from you, and they will acknowledge their doom."

"And when you fall beneath my blade, your successor will release my compatriots," Jim countered.

("What the hell is happening?" Pike whispered fiercely to his second.)

"I accept your futile terms." They nodded at each other, and the connection was cut.

* * *

_*P'Tok - filthy human child_

_*blHnuch - coward_

_*pujwl' - weakling_

_*bIjatlh 'e' ylmev - Shut your mouth/Cease talking/Shut up_

_*qoH - fool_

* * *

"I am the Captain, God damn it!" Pike was shouting. "You DO NOT get to make these kinds of decisions over my head! You aren't even _enlisted_!"

Dr. Kirk wheeled around and glared up at Pike with fierce, quelling force. "And what _exactly_ was your plan? Keep talking at him until you got sucked into space and didn't have any air left to make noise? This is the only chance we've got!" Tossing her magnificent head, she punched the elevator controls. Spock felt the downward momentum somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He was reeling.

"Mark my words, we will talk about this later," Pike hissed. Spock understood his rage. This was unconscionable. This was monstrous. Jim sighed.

"No, Christopher, we won't," she said tiredly. "Because I'm not coming back. You know that." Behind his friend and his captain, Spock made an involuntary noise, then stiffened. Now of all times was not the moment to lose control... but his heart was beginning to pound in his side. His blood flowed loud in his ears.

She glanced back at him, eyes softening. "Can I borrow your lirpa?" she asked. "Well... borrow is the wrong term. Can I have it? I think I can safely say Chris and the crew will chip in to buy you a new one if this works." And, incredibly, she smiled.

"You may have it," Spock told her thickly. He swallowed. Accordingly they halted the elevator, and the three of them moved towards his rooms. As the door whooshed open (how he loathed that cheerful whooshing now), he was acutely aware that this was the last time he would see her here, surrounded by his things, filling his air with her strange human fragrance. His jaw clenched. He lifted the weapon down from its rack on the wall and handed it to her. She hefted it, assessing its weight in her ludicrously small hands. "It is heavy," he said to her uselessly.

"It's like a staff," she said. "I studied ninjitsu in college. I think I can hold my own with it... for long enough." Carefully, she set it down on his bed, then stripped her outer layer off and stood in a black regulation tank top. She cracked her neck. "Okay. Time to go."

"Jim..." he and Pike said simultaneously.

"Don't," she admonished them lightly. She lifted her huge, brilliant, unmatchable eyes to Spock's flushed face. "The needs of the many, right?"

"You read The Principles of Surak," he surmised. His heart would surely burst.

Then they were back in the elevator, and they had reached Engineering. She was walking swiftly to the transport pad, Scotty trailing her. "As soon as you see us begin the fight, you jump," she was telling him. "You warp the fuck out of here. Find a gas giant, something huge with a big gravity bubble, and cloak, you understand me? The new tech's integrated. I didn't get a chance to test it but it'll work. You hide, and you _cloak_, and you keep your signature low until you're sure it's safe."

Scotty was red-eyed, wringing his hands. "It ent supposed to be like this!"

"Sure it is," she told him, pausing to clap him on the shoulder. "All our hard work, paying off. You guys make it, I get to be a hero, everyone wins."

"_No_," wept the Scotsman.

"This is ridiculous," said Pike, now openly distressed. "I can't let you do this."

"We don't have a choice," said Jim. "Don't make this harder for me. Get back to the bridge, prepare your team." She reached out and clasped his hand in a firm shake before he could jump back. "It's been a pleasure." At last she turned to Spock.

For a moment, she didn't seem to have any words. Then she lifted a timid hand and brushed her fingers over his wrist. "Please take care of yourself," she said.

"Beam trajectory locked in," came Ensign Chekov's voice over the comm.

"That's my cue," said Jim, stepping onto the pad, lirpa clutched awkwardly at her side.

"Jimmy -" Scotty wailed. "Energize," she said, and he slammed a fist against the button with a wretched little sob.

As soon as her form faded, Spock was on the pad. "Quickly. Before they close shields," he hissed. Scotty blinked at him, and Pike opened his mouth to protest. "NOW!" Spock ordered, and then he was dematerializing, following Jim into the unknown.


	8. Chapter 7

****I know it's short, but this is where it has to break. Hopefully there's enough awesome in there to tide you over.****

She is surrounded by Klingon warriors in armor (and she has none and it is unthinkable, incomprehensible for her to be here in nothing but a cotton shirt with her skin in the open ready to be cut apart) and she is looking at him as though he has plunged a knife into her heart. Before she can speak, he faces the snarling warriors and says, "I am her Second." She falls silent. If she contradicts him, they will cut him down, so she swallows her wrath - but it's there in her eyes. He moves to her side and they walk together, hands centimeters apart at their sides.

"What were you thinking?" she says quietly in Standard.

"That you should not be alone," he replies just as quietly, just as calmly. She shakes her head minutely, and then she turns to him. She smiles - wide, gorgeous, aching. "You could have just told me you loved me," she says.

He is struck, his defenses annihilated. So he rips her own words from memory and gives them to her instead. "I could have, couldn't I?" he murmurs.

She arches her spine, and he hears the bones crack under the strain of her tension. "Bad enough I have to fight a massive Klingon," she tells him. "But now I have to _win_?"

He knows she will not. He knows, by all logic and reason, that they will die together here. But he merely inclines his head and says, "Yes."

"Pushy Vulcan," she whispers back, and nudges his shoulder.

"Yes," he agrees absently.

And then they are with Chang, and he is pouring forth his war-speech, and his baat'leth is as long as her fragile body is tall, and Spock is afraid.

"Die with honor!" Chang roars as he moves in and the baat'leth slams against the upraised lirpa and the force of it pushes her back like a mighty wind, the treads of her boots squealing against the metal floor. She leans into it, arms straining as they take on the pressure. She whirls away, and if Lieutenant Scott is not a fool the Enterprise is gone by now, fading into the distance as the Klingon general chases his prey across the arena. Spock bids the human crew a silent farewell and does not blink. He will not disgrace her by looking away.

The motion of her body is a poem; she moves silently, her speed is her weapon, the lirpa sings as she spins and blocks and her lithe arms shudder under inhuman blows. But the reach of the baat'leth is too long and at last, at last, it lands on her side. A sheet of blood slides down her body. Through layers of shirt he sees her flayed, the bared fascia working over her skinned ribs.

She makes no sound, no move to clasp herself and prevent the life from pouring out of her. Instead she bares white teeth at her killer and stumbles away, raising her weapon shakily. He moves in, slowly, surely, tasting her death on the air with protruding tongue. She closes her eyes briefly.

And that's when he skids - her blood on the floor his undoing - and in a gorgeous display of physics she uses his own mass against him, sweeping his faltering legs out from under him, hurling him to his back,

and the fan-blade of the lirpa is at his throat, and the baat'leth lies useless under her steel-toed boot,

and Chang stares up at his defeater as she bleeds out over him.

"Do you yield?" she hisses through gritted teeth.

"My honor is yours," he says after a beat. "I have misjudged you. There is no shame in death by your hand, human."

She pauses, seconds ticking by, and Spock wants to scream as the ounces trickle away. "I offer you a choice," she says at last, and the general's eyes widen.

"An honorable death by my hand," she tells him, "or brotherhood by the same."

"What use is your hand?" Chang spits, but he is surprised. "You wither as you speak!"

"You are... mighty," she says through a gasp. "The loss of your life would be... considerable."

"You do not mourn your own passing?"

Jim smiles her terrible smile. "It is a good day to die."

They stare at each other. He makes a strange noise, like a laugh.

"To be your brother would be something indeed," he says, even as the lirpa cuts into his throat. She lifts it away, offers her hand to him, and he takes it. With the last of her energy she pulls him to his feet. She bends down, panting, and runs her palm over the tip of the baat'leth until a sluggish trickle of blood rises. Then she presses the lirpa into Chang's hands. Bemused, he copies her.

She clasps his hand, blood to blood. "Now we are brothers," she tells him, and a wave of understanding crashes over his face. "Brothers," the Klingon says hoarsely, gripping her tightly. Then, she swoons.

Spock breaks, dashing forward and catching her as she falls. Distantly he hears the warriors swearing at him, shouting that his actions dishonor her, and just as distantly he hears himself_ snarl_. A feral, ancient sound that all men recognize and obey.

Iron-rich blood soaks his shirt, blue stained purple, and hoping against hope he punches his communicator, over and over and over and then they are materializing, disintegrating - the Enterprise has heard his call - they stayed, as he would have stayed, to honor their own -

McCoy is pulling Jim from him, shouting, Spock is growling, clinging -

A phaser hums, a searing light fills his vision -

He knows no more.


	9. Chapter 8

"I don't know what the hell you did," Komack had told him, "but it's got the enemy back-pedaling. Word on the grapevine is that the Klingons are re-thinking their alliance with the Romulans."

Captain Pike was mentally agonizing over the report he had yet to submit. On the one hand, he should just write down what happened and send it in. On the other hand, the idea that a 110lb non-enlisted woman from the past had challenged a Klingon General to a duel and taken him down on his own ship with a ceremonial Vulcan staff was, frankly, ludicrous and would land him and his crew knee-deep in a pile of shit. Not to mention he, Sam, Lieutenant Scott, and his Vulcan Science Officer would immediately be brought up on charges for violating non-interference protocols and instigating a war.

To add to the headache, now some asshole calling himself Chancellor Gorkon was on the comm, demanding to speak to 'the Captain.' "Patch him through," he told Uhura wearily. She did, and a grey-bearded, severe old Klingon in ceremonial gear appeared on the screen, scowling.

"Where is Captain Kirk?" the old fuck insisted. "Does she not live? Have our information scouts erred?"

Sam made a surprised gesture, opening his mouth to speak, but Pike cut him off with a swift hand gesture. If the Klingons wanted to think Samantha was the Captain, he was not about to start an incident over it. "She's sleeping," he said. The Chancellor raised a ridged brow. "Then _wake_ her," he replied condescendingly.

"I can't," said Pike bluntly. "She's been in a coma since the fight with Chang. Er, General Chang. We still don't know if she'll recover."

This seemed to get through. "Hmm," mused the Chancellor. "Very well then, bring me her second in command. The one called Spock." His pilot, Sulu, was plagued by a sudden fit of coughing. Pike felt cornered. He was fairly sure Spock hadn't left sickbay for a week, and nothing short of the Devil himself was going to drag him out of there. Pike recalled Dr. Kirk's unorthodox handling of tricky Klingons.

"No," he said firmly. "If you want to talk, you have to deal with me." He put on what he felt was his fiercest, most authoritative face.

"And who are _you_?" Gorkon scoffed.

"I am Captain Christopher Pike of the U.S.S. Enterprise, and I'll thank you to remember it."

"Very well, _Captain _Pike. Perhaps you can explain to me why my loyal subordinate now refuses my counsel, and seems bent on allying himself with a race of cowards and weaklings."

"By that I infer you mean the human race," Pike said dryly. "I'll do you one better. I'll send you the tape of the whole scenario." He nodded to Uhura, who began to do just that.

"You bait me at your peril," Gorkon warned harshly.

"You scorn me at yours," Pike snapped back. "Watch the video. If you still have questions afterwards, then we can talk."

* * *

"Spock," said Dr. McCoy frustratedly. "You have to sleep."

"I do not require rest," said the Vulcan dully. He rubbed a single bony finger against the palm of the unconscious woman at his side.

"Yes, you _do_," McCoy insisted. "If you won't leave my sickbay, at least lie down on an empty bed."

"Unnecessary," Spock replied in that same dead tone.

"God damn it!" McCoy ran a callused hand through his hair. "I don't like you!" he burst out suddenly. "You don't like me! But by heaven I am your doctor and I'm telling you, _this ain't healthy_!"

"Your opinion has been noted," Spock said, without a particle of emotion, and McCoy could have shrieked. Biting his tongue, he stomped away instead, determined to have a meal and a stiff drink.

Jim was out cold, brain waves subdued. Scotty had been by every day to weep and slur guilty get-well sentiments in a thick brogue. Sam Kirk invaded the corners of the clinic after his shifts, mute and fidgety. Pike came by once, glared at everyone, and left, presumably to pound his head against the wall of the ready room.

The rest of the bridge and a good portion of the crew had faded in and out and generally made McCoy's life hellish. The pretty communications officer (on whom McCoy had had a long-distance crush for approximately forever) was a frequent face, which should have brightened his day except for the fact that she was clearly there just to make moony eyes at the Hobgoblin, who paid absolutely no attention to anything but the blond in the coma. Spock himself was like a Vulcan possessed. He didn't sleep, he didn't eat, he probably didn't even get up to piss. McCoy had caught him more than once fluttering his hands over Jim's unresponsive face, as if he were desperate to sense anything. Nothing came of it. Day by day, the man faded.

"Bones," said Sam Kirk as they lined up together at the replicator bank. "I need a sleep aid. Something to get Komack and the Klingons out of my head."

"Is everyone going to call me that now?" McCoy muttered bitterly.

"Sorry, sorry," Sam said hurriedly.

"Whatever," said the doctor. "I'll send Chapel up with something after dinner." He sat down, and poked his fork morosely into his mashed potatoes. They tasted like real mashed potatoes, and the sausage gravy tasted like real sausage gravy. Too bad he couldn't begin to enjoy them. Half a bottle of bourbon probably wouldn't cut it tonight, he thought. If he'd known the places medicine would take him, he might not be ears-deep in student loans. He might still have a kid and a bitchy wife and a job that didn't give him brave girls dying by inches on biobeds.

Lost in thought, he almost didn't notice it when his monitor beeped. He patted his waist for it, pulling it up to red-rimmed eyes. Then he leapt from the bench with a shout.

"Doctor?" Sam Kirk asked, startled.

"Gotta run!" said Bones, and sprinted for the elevator.

* * *

Spock threaded his fingers through Jim's in a gesture that another Vulcan would find almost painfully obscene, but he found he didn't care. Her hand was cold.

_"You could have just told me you loved me."_

_"I could have, couldn't I?" _

He lifted her hand to his face and rubbed his nose along her knuckles. "I love you," he told them.

There was an unattractive croaking sound. His eyes flew to her face. Hers were slitted open, her pupils adjusting rustily to the light.

His heart stopped for 3.2 Standard seconds.

"Spk?" she attempted, squinting. He sucked in a massive lungful of air. "Yes, Jim?" he managed after his internal organs resumed functioning.

"D'Iwrn?"

"Yes," he told her faintly. "You won." She coughed a little. "Blech. Thirsty," she said. Wordlessly, he reached for an untouched glass of water that Christine Chapel had left on the table for him 24 hours ago. He lifted it to her lips, and gently slid a hand behind her head to support her while she drank. Water ran down her chin. He wiped it away with his sleeve. "Thanks," she chirped, and he nodded.

"Feel like shit," she told him conversationally.

"Indeed," he said. He was unable to form rational thought beyond responding to what was immediately coming out of her mouth. He was vaguely aware that if he were to attempt to stand at this moment, the sheer relief flooding his limbs would have him crashing to the ground.

"Man, so _hungry_," she moaned.

"Are you," he murmured.

"Burger?" she rasped plaintively.

With strangled noise, he grabbed her hands and lifted them to his face, burying it in her palms. "No, Jim," he choked out, unsure if he were laughing or crying, as he had never before done either. "You cannot have a hamburger."


	10. Chapter 9

It had been 27.24 Standard minutes since Leonard McCoy had skidded into sickbay, communicator in hand, and the CMO was_ still_ holding forth.

"- just so's you _know _Scotty's been off his sandwiches for _days_ now -"

Spock's initial inclination had been to place himself squarely in-between Jim and the raving lunatic currently masquerading as a physician, but her little hand on his wrist had kept him in place as effectively as a steel vice. That didn't stop the low-frequency growl rumbling in his throat every time another obscenity left McCoy's mouth. Jim, however, seemed completely unfazed. She merely regarded McCoy with solemn eyes and waited for him to run out of steam. Which he did, moments later.

"- and if you ever pull another damn fool stunt like that I will personally stand by and watch you snuff it, because I am too old for this shit. _Too old_! Do you hear me!"

"Loud and clear," she replied with a little half-smile. Having personally been on the receiving end of the luminous twinkle she was now sending the doctor's way, Spock thought it doubtful the man's righteous indignation would survive. As he expected, the human male's mouth began to soften.

"Little con artist," McCoy muttered gruffly. "Don't think you can get around me with the big eyes."

"Sorry I worried you, Bones," she said, displaying all the markers of sincerity.

"Never again!" the physician reinforced.

"Never," Jim agreed. Spock resisted the urge to snort. Jim was, if his Terran vernacular sufficed, full of bovine excrement. She would misbehave again at the slightest opportunity. Spock calculated the probability of her instigating another incident of insubordination during transport to her quarters at over 75%. Possibly meat-product related. He made a mental note to disable her in-room replicator, then considered the likelihood that such an action would only temporarily delay her single-minded quest for inappropriate foodstuffs. Upon reflection, it would be more efficacious to post a guard.

Then again... if she could take down a Klingon, a security detail might prove similarly ineffectual.

McCoy, having satisfied his emotional need to bully Dr. Kirk, rounded on Spock with a speed reminiscent of a ravenous sehlat. "You! You need to rest! _And_ eat!"

"Affirmative," Spock said shortly.

"Don't think I won't sedate you, because I _will_," the man insisted.

"Duly noted, Doctor."

"Hey, what about me?" Jim wheedled. "I need to eat too..."

"Have some ice chips." Jim's expression fell. McCoy looked pleased.

"Bones!"

"Your IV nutrition supplies all your needs. You can have real food when you prove you're not a blithering moron."

"Bones." Big blue eyes should be classified as a level 5 dangerous weapon.

"God damn it! ...Fine." A sigh, then a wicked gleam. "But Spock gets to pick your meals. For a _week_." Jim paled. "I'll keep the IV," she whispered.

Spock, who would_ never_ admit to having a vindictive streak, and whose bedside vigil with a medically-acknowledged 'blithering moron,' however voluntary, certainly did_ not_ leave him with lingering feelings of worry and pique, raised an eyebrow that was _not at all_ smug. "Come, Dr. Kirk," he said evenly, rising gracefully to his feet despite the ache of fatigue. "I will escort you to your quarters and procure an appropriate meal of healthy vegetables and fluids."

"I don't wanna," Jim blurted. "My legs don't work. I think they're broken. Whoops, gotta stay in sickbay!"

"Unfortunately the CMO requires the use of this biobed, so your absence is mandated. As it is illogical to make you walk on broken legs that do not work, I will carry you." He gently removed the IV from her arm and blotted the blood away with a square of gauze, avoiding her feebly batting hands with ease, before smoothly lifting her in his arms.

"Boooones!" Jim wailed as Spock carried her away.

* * *

"Are you quite finished impersonating a human infant?" Spock asked her.

"No," came the petulant reply, its impact somewhat muffled by the pillow she currently had pressed into her face.

"Very well. It is my understanding that a typical Terran caretaker would now bathe and dress you for repose. Shall I proceed?"

Jim lifted her head slightly and favored him with a ferocious glare. "Next chance I get, I'm zapping your toes with an arc-welder," she proclaimed.

"That sounds very painful," he said serenely. "More tea?"

"I hate your tea. I hate it the _most_. I want coffee."

"Coffee would be detrimental to you in your current state. If the tea is not to your liking, I will authorize an alternative beverage, such as water or fruit juice."

"Uhhrrrrg!" Spock turned his back on her tantrum and procured for himself a segment of kreyla. He then moved to an electric kettle, preferring to brew the Vulcan spice tea on his own rather than trust the replicator... even if Jim had made great strides in that regard. "Why, Spock?" she whined behind him. "Why don't you love me?"

He stilled. The hands on the kettle clenched, then trembled. He felt her move closer to him, her psychic energy tingling across his spine. "Spock?" she said softly.

"I... I am gratified to observe that your broken legs have miraculously healed," he said lamely.

"Hey," she murmured, and placed a cool palm on the flat area between his shoulder blades. He couldn't help the shudder that passed through him at her touch. The metal of the kettle bent in his grip.

"You kissed my hand," she said. "But you've never kissed my face."

"Dr. Kirk -"

"Jim," she corrected gently. Gathering his resolve, he turned to face her, and his back felt unnaturally warm where her hand had fallen away. He opened his mouth. But words wouldn't come.

"It's okay," she told him, drawing nearer. "You don't have to say it. I already know." He swallowed, feeling pressure in his lungs as he worked to fill them. She put her hands on his face and his eyes squeezed shut. "What I don't get," she said (and she was close enough for him to feel her breath on his lips and that was distinctly distracting), "is why me?"

"I do not understand," he managed. She gave a faint, self-deprecating laugh.

"I'm... well okay, I know I'm awesome," she laughed again, "but I'm also... damaged goods. I'm not..."

"Jim," he interrupted, opening his eyes. The uncertainty in her eyes filled his chest with something like anger, but not at her. "You cannot be 'damaged goods.' Goods are items without mind or katra. You are a sentient being, one of great courage, intelligence, and strength."

"But..."

"Whatever your past experiences, your essential self remains the same. You are a formidable creature. Your doubts are unfounded and irrational."

She searched his expression. "And that's why you... like me? Because you think I'm smart and strong?"

"I admire those qualities very much," he admitted, "but they are not what draws me. In truth I cannot explain it, I only know that to be near you is to be content. To be... happy."

"Me, too," she breathed.

Her words lit something in him, a small flame catching and beginning to grow. He let his hands stretch forth, settle on her waist. The contact swelled in him, aching and sweet. "I don't know how to describe it," she continued. "It's like there's a place in me, a place I didn't know about before... and when I see you, it reaches out. Like it's a vacuum and you're air, or it's a starving thing and you're food... I don't know. Like I said, I can't..."

"Yes," Spock agreed.

"You fill me up," she said. He slid his hands up the lovely terrain of her back, threaded his fingers through her hair. "Yes," he repeated.

"Kiss me?" she asked tentatively.

"Oh _yes_," he said, and bent his mouth to brush his lips over hers. Deep within his body, that strange something crackled and spread, a nameless emotion he had no wish to suppress.


	11. Chapter 10

Spock, who if he possessed pride would have prided himself on constant readiness, was at a loss to explain why Dr. McCoy seemed bent on catching him wrong-footed. Or so he told himself as he rose as gracefully as possible from the sofa where he had been curled catlike around the small body of Dr. Kirk.

"Mornin', haystack," said the doctor. At Spock's blank expression, he added, "Yer hair's stickin' straight up."

"Thank you for informing me," Spock replied stiffly.

"Mrr?" Jim added, blinking up at the two of them in sleepy consternation. McCoy pointed his tricorder at her in response. As it beeped and whirred, she stretched languidly, joints all over her body popping and crackling. She sighed in pleasure.

"You need to urinate, then go drink some more fluids," McCoy told her. She smacked her lips.

"Gee thanks, Bones. Why don't you tell the room how my bowels are doing, or how long it's been since I got laid?"

"Damn it, Jim, it's too early in the morning for scotch!"

"Try some of Spock's green drink. It's truly hideous."

"The theris-masu contains many beneficial phytonutrients and will mitigate your addiction to Terran coffee," Spock interjected.

"He tried to feed me_ liver_," Jim said, ignoring the Vulcan.

"The abundance of iron and amino acids -"

"I already told you, I am not eating your nasty liver!"

"The item in question was a replicated beef liver, one widely recognized as appropriate for human consumption. My own liver remains in its customary location below my heart. Furthermore, your stated desire for me to 'give that thing back to the replicated cow I took it from' is illogical, as there is no need to replicate an entire animal -"

"Fuck it," the physician muttered to himself. "It's five o'clock somewhere."

Pike burst in, wild eyed. "Is she up?" he demanded. He spotted Jim. "Are you up?"

"If I say no will you go away?" she groused.

"No," said Pike hurriedly. "Listen, there is a very cranky old Klingon on the comm and he wants to talk to 'Captain Jim.' He's called three times now and each time he looks more and more like he's about to blast us to smithereens, so brush your hair and put on some golds!" He took a breath. "Please," he added belatedly.

"What's in it for me?" Jim replied, a calculating gleam in her eye.

"What do you want?" Pike asked exasperatedly.

"Coffee and donuts," she said instantly. McCoy turned an interesting shade of purple.

"Give her all the coffee and donuts she wants!" Pike commanded before anyone else could speak. "For chrissake we are on the brink of starting an interspecies incident here, I don't give a damn about her arteries!"

"When the atherosclerosis sets in, I'm going to remind you of that," McCoy pronounced grimly.

* * *

Chancellor Gorkon was a warrior of great experience and fortitude, but his aides could see the man was becoming greatly agitated. What many saw as Chang's 'defection' to the Federation had shaken him. And now the honor-less fools were playing deceitful games with the Empire, refusing to bring forth those of their number who had instigated the rift.

The one called Pike was hailing. "Answer!" was the Chancellor's curt command. The screen's resolution resolved, revealing the Enterprise's crew deck. Pike stood at parade rest, hands behind his back, another human and a Vulcan in similar positions at his side. Sprawled in a chair in front of them was a slight Terran woman with pale skin and golden hair and a mouthful of crumbling pastry. Gorkon was not impressed.

"Captain Kirk," he greeted disdainfully.

"Just Kirk," she corrected. "I'm no Captain."

Outraged muttering broke out among the Klingons. "What is the meaning of this, human?" Gorkon demanded.

The woman jerked her head backwards at the man called Pike. "Chris is the Captain," she said. "He always has been. If your people and mine are going to talk, I prefer we don't start it under false pretenses."

Gorkon could practically see the human crew holding their breaths. They clearly had not expected this creature to be forthright. So although she claimed she was not a Captain, she was evidently operating outside the authority of the ship's command. "Your offense against the Empire grows ever more dire!" he rumbled. "Nevertheless, your lack of deceit is a small showing in your favor."

"Listen, Chancellor, let's get one thing straight. The Klingon Empire has never been on good terms with Starfleet, so acting like we're somehow subject to your laws and traditions is bullshit. You know this, I know this, why are we even playing this game?" the woman asked him, exhibiting no trace of discomfort.

Gorkon blinked. "Your insolence is unforgivable. How dare you show us such disrespect?"

"When you earn my respect you will have it," she said sharply. "I know nothing about you, other than the fact that you are collaborating with the Romulans in some kind of devious plot against the Vulcan colony. On the other hand, I believe that my_ own _actions have been steadfastly in keeping with both Terran and Klingon strictures on honorable and above-board behavior, yet you persist in treating me and my crew with disdain. How then should I respond? Did you expect meekness?"

Gorkon found he had no answer. Growling, he turned to an underling. "Bring forth my wayward protégé. Perhaps he can reason with this infuriating being."

After a tense period of waiting, Chang appeared on deck. Gorkon observed as Not-the-Captain Kirk's face transformed into an expression of joy and welcome. "Brother!" she cried happily.

Chang, to his peers' surprise and discomfort, responded in kind. "My brother," he smiled. "I am heartened to see you well." Then his eyes flitted back to his master, and he grew more subdued. "Despite the current circumstances," he added apologetically.

Kirk shrugged. "Dude, check _this _out," she said, lifting up her shirt (to the apparent horror and chagrin of the men surrounding her) to reveal a long, pale scar. "Bones tried to remove it but I told him to keep his mitts off. Is that cool or what?" she enthused.

Chang was visibly moved. "I, too, bear your marks with honor," he declared, shifting his collar aside to show the curving imprint of her lirpa.

Gorkon found himself utterly unsettled by the flow of events. On the one hand - humans. Horrid fragile creatures with no propriety or structure. On the other - a fierce Terran woman showing off her battle scars with all the pride of a consummate warrior. He recalled the video of the fight, his grudging admiration of her courage. Was Chang's behavior really reprehensible, in light of these observations? Were the humans really so ripe for subjugation? The Chancellor pondered, then came to a decision. "I hereby order your presence aboard my ship for deliberations," he told the woman.

This statement, intended to be a show of respect and invitation, elicited instead the first signs of spirit from the rest of the Enterprise's crew. The spindly Vulcan emitted a low, rumbling growl, and Captain Pike moved to the forefront of the group. "No," said the Captain.

"_No_?" Gorkon asked warningly.

"That's what I said," Pike confirmed. "There is no way in hell Jim is getting aboard another Klingon ship on my watch. Ever." And he smiled a tight-lipped smile, one that deliberately revealed a long row of gleaming teeth.

In the ensuing silence, Chang spoke. "She would not be harmed," he offered. "The Chancellor merely wishes to speak face-to-face. In addition, I would protect my brother with my life."

"With all due respect, my answer is final," Pike returned.

"Your insult spells your doom!" Gorkon roared.

"Excuse me very much," piped an indignant female voice from behind the sudden wall of Federation bodies, "but when exactly did any of you ask my opinion?"

"Be silent, Jim," said the Vulcan.

"The fuck I will!" came the voice. "You may be three times stronger than me but I _will_ knock you on your skinny green ass!"

"I will contact the excitable doctor. Perhaps he can make you see reason, or if he cannot, perhaps he can sedate you until your insanity has passed."

"Are you seriously trying to sic Bones on me?!" Her golden, disheveled head forced its way through the wall of male bodies. "Beam me up, Gorkon! Don't listen to these shit-heads, I'll totally come to your party!" Both Captain Pike and the irritable Vulcan burst out in a jumble of argumentative words, reaching to restrain her. "I heard him say doom!" she insisted, struggling. "Why do you all want doom?"

"Alas," drawled a strangely accented boy from the periphery. "I cannot lower ow-er shields. Vat ever shall I do."

"I'll get you, Chekov," Jim threatened. "And your pretty little continuum models too!"

Gorkon turned to Chang, too bewildered to maintain his sense of outrage. "Is this customary human behavior?" he asked his subordinate.

"It is the way of my brother," Chang stated apologetically. "She possesses much courage but little discipline. It is not so surprising, if you observe the actions of her supposed superiors." Both Klingons glanced back at the screen, where the pacifist Vulcan was currently lifting a kicking bundle of female flesh above the crowd in an attempt to carry her off the bridge. "I believe they wish to protect her, in the way that true warriors protect those among them who are helpless… but…"

"But she is not helpless," Gorkon supplied bemusedly. "She is herself a warrior."

"Yes," sighed Chang. "Their culture is very confusing."

"I'm gonna!" Dr. Kirk persisted as the Vulcan dragged her towards the turbolift. "Your puny shackles won't hold me!" At that, the tall creature paused, tucking her easily under one lithe arm thoughtfully and glancing back at Pike.

"Captain, upon reflection, I have determined that the best course of action may be to allow Dr. Kirk to attend the Klingon deliberations. If we attempt to suppress her, she will undoubtedly find some way to thwart us."

Pike clenched his fists and lowered his head, breathing deeply. "If anyone should be going, it should be me," he ground out.

"You may come aboard with the Lady Jim if that is your request," Gorkon interjected tiredly.

"And I," insisted the Vulcan.

"Yes, yes. Three Federation idiots at a Klingon war panel. Why not," sighed the Chancellor, leveling Chang with the kind of glare that usually meant imminent dismemberment. Chang straightened. "We welcome your words," he stated.

"Thanks, bro!" chirped Jim, all former anger forgotten.

"Locking een signal," the Russian boy muttered.

* * *

"Permission to speak freely?" Dr. Kirk requested. Gorkon had given up trying to interpret her mercurial personality shifts about two hours into the conference, deciding that she was not so much an organic being as a force of nature. A conclusion he suspected her comrades had come to long ago. "Speak your mind," he told her.

"Seeing as I've kind of been living with Romulan radicals for the last century, I think I'm in a unique position to offer you some insights into their behavior. Not that I expect you to take it all on blind faith, but I'm pretty sure you'll have the opportunity to test my theories against your own experiences, yeah?" She leaned back, stretching her neck tiredly.

"Very well," Gorkon agreed.

"It's no secret to me that these guys think of every other species in the galaxy as chattel. I never knew much about Orions in my time, but at least those dudes are… business like, you know? The Romulan faction you're dealing with, however - it's all personal to them. They want to subjugate everyone. That means you, too. They get particularly lathered up over the idea of some kind of literati slave-class, which is where I'm guessing the Vulcans come in." She turned apologetic eyes to Commander Spock, who gave her a bland look. "I know there's some kind of bad blood there. You guys look practically the same, but they hate you and you despise them, I don't really know… except they crave the Science Academy stuff. They _lust_ after it. I'm talking visions of red-matter factories dancing through their heads... and so forth."

"This observation does not surprise me," Spock said mildly. Dr. Kirk, on the other hand, grimaced. She patted the Vulcan's arm with her child-like hand before turning her attention back to the Klingons.

"You think you have an alliance," she summarized. "You don't. What you have is a parasite - I know nothing of the particulars, but I'm willing to bet good money you've already traded advanced battle-cruiser tech for what you think is top of the line cloaking schematics. You're probably sharing mining outpost materials with them too. They tell you it's the mighty against the weak - what they don't tell you is that eventually, _you_ will become the weak. They'll suck your blood for as long as they can, then they'll launch a lightning strike against the top five or ten strongholds you have in the area and either drive you out or enslave every Klingon citizen they can get their hands on."

The Chancellor folded his hands thoughtfully. "Your words have a seductive ring. But what proof do you offer of your sincerity? The Praetor could levy the same accusations against the Federation; indeed, with more evidence."

She sighed. "Look, they tried this shit with us during the Terran civil wars! Lucky for humanity, we're a suspicious lot. What we lack in logic and brute strength, we make up in sheer bloody-mindedness. So the first mining colony they massacred was the last one. They didn't expect a hundred split-up factions to band together and burn their asses out of Federation space, which is the _only_ reason Earth isn't a Romulan territory and humans aren't a new household appliance."

"Silver-tongued conjecture. The Klingon Empire cannot speak to Romulus' actions during a war in which we were not involved."

"Fine!" Jim huffed. "You want proof? All you have to do is open your eyes. Put an APB out on the black-market planets. Look for missing colonists, I bet you'll find a healthy trade in young Klingon farm labor. Check the areas you've secretly ceded to Romulan operation and see if they're not building spacecraft there with interesting new tech aboard. They're _not your friends_, Gorkon." She stood, pacing to the far wall. "I'm not saying all Romulans are evil Machiavellian masterminds. I'm saying _these particular_ Romulans you're dealing with… are." She clenched a fist, rapped it gently against the wall. "I have every reason to hate both of your races, you know. Your ancestors were the ones that destroyed my life's work and handed me over to the bastards who tortured me for years. If there were a way to organize this so the two of your species killed each other and left Earth and Vulcan alone, I'd go with that option. Unfortunately you've involved us, so here I am."

Gorkon bristled. "The Star Empire reached out to Klingon mercenaries when the ship you speak of invaded their territory with hostile intent. Your accusations are ludicrous."

She snorted. "Sure they did. And the NX-tech onboard the Enterprise was just a bonus acquisition for both of you. Don't feed me the company line, Chancellor, I was there. I know exactly what went down."

Gorkon spread his hands. "What would you have me do, Lady? Abandon my allies and enter an honor-less agreement with the Federation? Do you even have the authority to speak for the Federation? I hear and comprehend your concerns, but detect no obvious solution."

"I see your point," the woman conceded. "And no, I don't speak for the Feds, although Pike here's high-enough up that he could probably draw up a preliminary treaty. What I will say, is that one day soon you're going to get a wake-up call. On that day you'll understand that the words I've spoken are true. I pray that on that day, we still have the option to come together. What I propose, Chancellor, is this - do not burn your bridges with humanity until you are certain you will not need them. Open your minds, your eyes, and your ears."

The elder Klingon closed his eyes, pondering. He heard his General's gravely voice. "And if, as you say, we discover our allies have been false? What will you offer? Why would we come to you?"

"Pike?" Jim prompted.

"I will need to bring the contents of this talk before my superiors, but I can say this. The Federation is not interested in subjugation. Our stated purpose is unity. Adding the Klingon Empire into our alliance would be considered a major coup," the Captain said carefully.

"I'll put my tech translations on the table," Dr. Kirk offered, although Pike and Spock hissed. "Oh, grow _up_. Words are nice, hard currency is nicer. And I'm almost certain the Praetor hasn't been giving you the real goods. When you've discovered the truth, come see me, and I'll show you how real allies take care of each other."

"We are not allies now," Gorkon observed. "I could simply disable your ship and take its technology for my own." Beside him, General Chang stiffened. If the man had had a sword, his hand would be upon it.

Jim grinned up at them fearlessly. "And dirty your venerable hands? Besides, I'd like to see you break my algorithms before the self-destruct worm kicked in."

Chancellor Gorkon rose, and his cabinet rose beside him. "I thank you for your attendance and the generosity of your counsel. Please return to your ship while we conclude."

The two humans and the Vulcan rose as one, backing away respectfully towards the door. Dr. Kirk, force of nature, waved at Chang as she left. And Chang, the one-eyed idiot, waved back.


	12. Chapter 11

****I made up a word, you guys. It is 'flangst.' It means: fluff that happens as a direct cause of angst, or fluff immediately following angst. **

**I can't help the flangst, y'all. I CANNOT HELP IT. **

**P.S. slightly sexy times ahead. And mention of past non-con. If you're under 13 you should probably skip this and go have a refreshing beverage.** **

* * *

Spock found his hands trembling as he walked Jim back to her room. Four hours of deliberations, and he had tensed up every time the infuriating human woman had opened her lips.

"Were those worms we were eating? Because I'm pretty sure I ate a live worm," she said happily, tossing herself bodily down on the sofa.

"There is a word for what you are," he said tiredly, making his way to the replicator for some long-anticipated tea. "You are _mouthy_."

"I beg your pardon?" came an outraged squeal.

"Loud-mouthed. Obstreperous. _Mouthy_."

"Hey! I - okay yeah, I guess I am. A little," Jim replied. He heard her shifting around as he prepared their drinks.

The spoons rattled in the cups. He had been afraid.

"Give those over," she said softly in his ear, and he did. He waited while she set them on her little table. "Sit with me," she told him, and took his face in her hands as he obeyed. He closed his eyes. "What's up?" she asked.

"I do not know why you insisted on boarding that ship," he said as steadily as he could.

"I didn't want to get blown up," she replied. "And I didn't want you or anyone else to get blown up either. So."

"I thought the first inter-cultural incident traumatic enough."

"Ah, well," she sighed. "A man's work is never done, you know?"

"I do not," he said, opening his eyes and looking at her seriously. "You are a woman. You are…"

"Your woman?" She grinned at him crookedly.

"Yes!" His voice was quite a bit louder than he intended. His hands on her wrists were a little too tight.

"Actually, we never really talked about that -" He kissed her, stemming her words with his lips. He pried her hands from his face and tangled their fingers together. He drank in the sight of her lashes fluttering down onto her cheeks as he moved his mouth over her face, marking her skin with his own, painting over her pheromones with his. Desire and sensation shot up his arms and down his neck, pooling in his belly. He felt fragile and fierce at once, like the sharpest of blades.

She murmured something under the onslaught - or maybe it was a moan - and he tipped her back against the cushions until she lay prone beneath him. He freed one hand to trace restlessly over her shirt, filing away the eidetic memory of her form into his mind. She shifted under his fingers and he felt the play of her musculature beneath skin and fabric. He dipped his tongue between her lips and tasted her, the contrast of temperature between them exquisite, and she moaned again, the resonance of it shuddering up through his jaw, unbearably erotic.

"I desire thee," he muttered into her neck. "Ah, Jim,_ taluhk nash-veh k'du_…" She arched beneath him as his teeth scraped her jugular, his tongue following to soothe the sting. He reached for the hem of her uniform, tugging it upwards.

"Spock - ah! Wait…" she cried, shuddering. Though it caused him physical pain, he pulled back slightly, stilling. "What is it?"

"I don't… I don't know if I can…"

"You do not desire me?" he asked her, a furrow appearing between his brows. Everything about her body, the emotions bleeding from her silken skin, said otherwise. In point of fact, the sheer want pulsing off of her was driving him steadily towards insanity. He steeled himself against the overwhelming impulse to once again close the distance between them and capture her cool wet mouth.

"It's not that," she said shakily. "It's just… if we… oh fuck, you _know_ I want you, you know I think about it when you're not here, just thinking makes me crazy, but what if I… what if I can't…? After… _them_…"

He leaned back on his ankles, smoothing a hand over her belly, and tried to piece together her meaning. "You fear that if we act upon our mutual desire to copulate, your memories will prevent you from achieving pleasure?"

She placed a palm over her eyes, breathing slowly. "Well… yeah. Kind of. I… haven't been able to… you know, since then."

A tendril of frustration, tinged with sadness, smote him. "You are not speaking clearly. Do you mean that you have not achieved climax since being assaulted?" Her sudden bark of bitter laughter startled him enough that he jumped.

"Yes!" she laughed. "Way to come right out and say it, by the way." She sobered. "But yeah. That can't be what you want. A person who… can't even…"

"Jim," he interrupted sternly. "Cease speaking of the matter as if I am seeking other options. I do not want any sort of person, if it is not you. As I have said before, your essential self is extraordinary, whatever your experiences may have been." He reached down, lifting her up and arranging their bodies so that she sat cradled between his knees. "If we were never to do anything more than touch, I would consider myself blessed, as touching you is the most profound pleasure I have yet experienced."

Gradually she relaxed, curling into his chest. A drop of moisture from her face hit his shirt, and he realized she was weeping. "Ashayam, do not pull away from me. I will not harm you, and you will not harm me." He pressed his lips against her temple, and felt the faint brush of her katra through them. Fading fear and sadness, longing, love. "In my studies I have read many things, many works by human artists, yet now this one seems most apt:

'What though the sea with waves continual

do eat the earth, it is no more at all,

nor is the earth less, or loseth ought;

For whatsoever from one place doth fall

is with the tide unto another brought:

For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.' "

In the silence that fell between them, Spock heard her respirations and felt them against his body. Peace descended, the kind he sought but rarely found in meditation. The lights, detecting no movement, slowly dimmed.

"Edmund Spenser," she said after many minutes passed. Her chest hitched slightly, a tiny chuckle. "'Flesh may impair, but reason can repair.' How apt."

"Indeed," he murmured.

"Do you still want me? After all that?" She peered up shyly from beneath blond lashes. "Because I…"

"I do," he replied, promptly turning her in his lap and facing her expectantly.

Her laughter as she leaned in to kiss him senseless was the most glorious sound.

* * *

"Commander?" buzzed the communicator. "COMMANDER?!"

Jim rummaged through the pile of clothing next to her, picking out the device and holding it up to her face. "Sorry Bones. I think I broke him."

Spock himself lay in a disheveled heap beneath her, half-dressed and lost in a feedback loop. After all his dramatic proclamations not 37.4 minutes earlier, he found himself thoroughly defeated by love.

You can tell your beloved a hundred times how you will cherish her and gently repair her heart, but when she gets her exquisitely deft hands down your trousers and starts taking you apart like a plasma conduit, nothing you said before makes the slightest bit of difference. Spock had achieved his half of the consummation of his first physical relationship with embarrassing rapidity. In his defense, he really had no way of knowing she could do that to his ear with her tongue.

Or that she would rock against him like that, or make sweet, needly little noises that set his whole body on fire. Or that he would feel her own pleasure every time their skin made contact, or that her very dynamic mind would apparently feel _his_, too, and cause her to start shivering and begging and generally touching him in all the most effective ways possible. If he had possessed the modicum of sense necessary to lift a hand to her face, she would have undoubtedly followed him into oblivion. That thought was a small comfort.

"You did _what_? How?" came the doctor's voice.

"Repeated applications of saliva," Jim responded fondly, ruffling Spock's hair. He whimpered.

"Oh. OH. What - no, you shut your face. I did NOT want to know that!"

"You asked," Jim insisted cheerfully.

"God damn it!"

"God had nothing to do with it. This was _all me_," she said with deep satisfaction.

"I'm hanging up now!" the doctor warned. "I'm hanging up and sticking my head face-first in a vat of whisky!"

"You do that, honey-bee." There came a noise that may or may not have been the sound of McCoy's communicator hitting a wall. "So," she drawled, shifting herself slightly closer on his lap. His grip on her waist tightened. "You gonna be okay?"

"I am well," he croaked.

"Phew." She grinned.

"I believe I would like to reciprocate," he added.

"Sure you're up to that?" He felt a faint tinge of nervousness from her.

"Vulcans never leave a debt unpaid," he told her gravely, and flipped them over.

* * *

** **Can you guys imagine what Spock would be like with a teenage daughter? I have this image in my mind of him waiting in front of a teleporter pad with a cryo-knife. ...That is all.****


	13. Chapter 12

****Hey, awesome people! **

**Note one: You guys rock my socks with the comments and the favorites. I love you.**

**Note two: I have two loved ones in the hospital right now. The next couple of chapters are kinda sorta written already, and I'm still working on the rest faithfully, but I may not be updating every other day like usual for a few weeks. I'm really sorry about that. I'll do my best to keep the disturbance to my readers at a minimum. Thanks again for your support.****

* * *

The crew of the Enterprise would testify that Captain Pike had always been a strong leader. His style was a mixture of steadfast authority and subtle empathy; he never let a crewmember hang out to dry, he never lost his cool, and he was an absolute rock in times of crisis.

That being said, he really,_ really_ did not want to write up this damned report.

So he made Sam do it.

By the time Lieutenant Kirk was finished detailing his great-great-great-aunt's adventures in Klingon diplomacy and sending it off to the brass, Pike was already on his second shot of tequila. He needed the insulation against the inevitable bitching out he was about to get from Admiral Archer, in three... two... one...

"Captain, we are being hailed." Bingo.

"I'm going to be as frank as possible with you, Christopher, and I hope you will take this in the spirit it is given - are you seriously telling me that you took a mentally unstable civilian woman onto a Klingon ship and gave her carte blanche to conduct sensitive negotiations? After,_ apparently_, allowing her to battle a general in hand-to-hand combat?"

Pike adjusted his collar in what he sincerely hoped was a relaxed, casual motion. "They requested her, sir," he replied evenly. "I got the feeling they were not going to take 'no' for an answer."

"I'm not even going to get into the fact that Samantha Kirk has been screwing around with your Chief Engineer integrating un-tested alien technology into your shield systems without so much as a by-your-leave. I should have you court-martialed."

"Yes, sir," Pike answered softly.

There was a long, fraught silence. "I'm not going to, though. Because you're currently shitting gold. Intelligence reports no Warbird activity in the last 48 hours."

Captain Pike released a long, slow breath. "That, sir, is the best goddamned news I've heard all week. If you'll pardon my French."

Archer pounded his fist lightly on his desk, his expression thoughtful. "I want detailed schematics on the changes to your warp drives. I want copies of any and every note on the cloaking tech you picked up. And I want Samantha Kirk in this ready room in five minutes."

"Done and done," Pike breathed, hitting his communicator. "Scotty, prepare to copy Command on every single thing you've done in the last month, and don 't leave anything out to spare my feelings. And send Jim up here, I know she's down there with you. On the double."

"Aye Captain," the engineer crackled back.

* * *

Jim stared up at the screen, cocking her head. "You look... familiar," she said.

Archer, that old devil, actually cracked a smile. "I spent a good portion of my graduate school years desperately hitting on you. You always turned me down flat."

"Ah," Jim nodded. "John, right?"

"You remember? My withered heart just went pitty-pat." He straightened. "That being said, my cabinet has been raising hell about you. Wanna fill me in on your shocking shenanigans?"

Jim shrugged. "Chris probably told you all there is to know. It all seemed like a good idea at the time."

"I'm _so_ sure," Archer grumbled. "You all healed up from your adventures in warrior land?"

"Good as new."

"Great. I'm reactivating your Starfleet commission, starting now. Congratulations, you're our new Ambassador to the Empire."

"_What_? God damn it, I hate regs!"

"Since when do you follow them? Of course if you want to refuse, I can just get Chris to swing by San Fran and drop you off. You know, since you're _not supposed to be there_."

Jim released a stream of extremely graphic Andorian curses. "Fuck you, old man. FINE. I'll join the light brigade. But I am not wearing that idiotic skirt set you assholes call a uniform. That's where I draw the fucking line."

"Acknowledged. And watch your tone, Lieutenant, you're speaking to a superior officer."

"Shove it up your ass. _Sir_."

Pike had managed to keep his jaw from dropping, barely. "Good luck, Chris," Archer said, one hand over his face to hide what Chris suspected was a grin. "You're gonna need it."

The Captain tapped his communicator. "Mr. Spock. Please prepare a refresher course on Starfleet procedure, focusing on conduct befitting an officer," he said faintly.

"I'm going back to bed," Jim announced, and proceeded to do exactly that.

* * *

"Jim. It is not appropriate for you to suggest that an Admiral insert metaphorical objects into his rectum," Spock admonished in a slightly shocked tone.

"Aye aye, Commander," Jim snarked.

He took a moment to control his breathing. "You are employing sarcasm," he noted.

"No shit, Sherlock," she replied cheerfully. "Oh, excuse me. What I meant to say was, 'What an astute observation, sir.'"

"We are not on duty. It is permissible to refer to one another by our first names," he said. "Or by the names of fictional 19th century Terran detectives, if it pleases you."

"How did I just _know_ you'd be a fan of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle," she muttered.

"Perhaps your advanced knowledge of my personality allowed you to make an accurate deduction regarding my preferences," he answered.

"Rhetorical question," she sighed. "Speaking of pleasing me..."

"Hmm?"

"Care to continue our exploration of Terran mating rituals?" Her eyes danced at him.

"I am always amenable to the pursuit of knowledge," he said gravely, pulling her into his lap.

* * *

Uhura found herself sighing wistfully as she picked at her chicken korma. Lately Spock had taken to dining in his rooms, which left little time to engage in their usual conversations about linguistics. Ever since he'd complimented her on her 'exceptional oral sensitivity,' she'd been hooked.

Christine Chapel, her second favorite person on the ship, noted her demeanor. "Okay, Nyota, what gives?" she asked bluntly.

Everyone thought of Spock as cold and emotionless, but she knew better. She'd seen how worried he was about his Captain and his crew, how devoted he was to making sure they were healthy. He'd even mind-melded with that Kirk woman to save her life, and she wasn't even Starfleet! Perhaps she should sign up for more away missions... it sure would be nice to have him sitting by her bedside...

"Earth to Nyota, come in!" Chapel called.

"Sorry, Cici," Uhura said apologetically. "I'm acting like fourteen year old. I don't know what's gotten into me."

"_Please_ tell me this isn't about the Vulcan," Christine moaned.

"I can't help it!" Uhura protested. "He's just so... so..."

"Hot?" Christine suggested.

"Ugh," Nyota groaned. "That's not even... okay yeah, that's part of it. You could bounce a quarter off that ass."

"Mmmhmm," Chapel agreed. "Not to mention those hands. So _precise_. And such long fingers..."

Uhura laughed in spite of herself. "You're such a slut for hands. No wonder you went into medicine."

"Yeah, well," Chapel said seriously. "Don't get too carried away with those daydreams, hun. Word on the street is, Spock's been playing 'hide the tribble' with Dr. Kirk."

"What?" Nyota felt blindsided. "No way. That flat-chested little thing?" Uhura's impressions of the Kirk woman were few (mostly from sickbay), but what she remembered was not all that favorable. Short, wiry, raggedy blondish hair. Nyota was never one to toot her own horn, but she knew her long legs and womanly curves were considered very attractive by a variety of species. Not to mention she was a genius in Spock's original field of study. He'd all but said so himself.

Christine gave a startled laugh. "Jesus, Ny, that's a little bitchy. Since when do you judge people by their looks?"

Nyota felt an instant pang of shame. "You're right, of course. I hate that mean-girl stuff. But... I don't know, I always thought a man like Spock would end up with someone more like _him_. You know?"

"What? Tall, dark and gorgeous?" Christine's tone turned sly. "Who does that remind me of..."

"Oh, stop. Anyways, I know better than to listen to rumors. If Spock were seeing someone he'd make a point of informing Command. He's very proper."

"Much to your chagrin, I'm sure. Honestly, sweetie, I know you came by the hospital. You saw him. He was holding her hand. That's practically making out by his standards." Nyota thought back to her visits. At the time she'd been more concerned with how Spock was doing - he'd looked so tired! - but now that she considered it, he really had been all over Kirk. She blinked rapidly against the moisture gathering in her eyes. How stupid!

"Damn," she muttered. "Just... don't tell anyone what a baby I am."

"Cross my heart," Christine said sympathetically, drawing an X on her chest with her finger. "Oh, honey, believe me. I had the hots for him too, for a while, but it just wasn't meant to be."

Nyota scrubbed at her face with a napkin. "Okay. All right. But I still don't see the attraction," she sniffed petulantly.

"Are you kidding?" Christine smirked. "Have you _seen_ her butt in uniform? I like men, but I could eat my dinner off that thing. I bet she tastes like candy and engine lube... and those _eyes_..."

"Oh gross! You are _so_ disgusting!" Nyota exclaimed, laughing in spite of herself.


	14. Chapter 13

****Aww, you guys, no love for Uhura? I actually feel for her. Smart lady trying to make it on a ship full of testosterone, inadvertently infatuated with her brilliant Commander. Gotta be tough, that's all I'm sayin.' **

**Chapter Warning: SEX. Also a lot of painfully gooey mushy talk after the sex. If you are not an adult, or if you cannot deal with excruciating fluff, go have a snack and come back later.****

* * *

"Oh! Jim, _ohh_…."

Spock had never given much thought to the dynamics of coitus beyond a cursory study of the mechanics behind it. It had always struck him as a necessary but unpleasant sort of duty; certainly his Vulcan counterparts had never indicated otherwise. Now, however, he was becoming _very_ aware of his misapprehensions.

Jim was splayed atop him on his bed, kissing her way methodically up his neck. Her hands were… not idle. Though Spock possessed superior strength, speed, and agility to every human he'd thus far encountered, his muscles seemed to go instantly weak when confronted with a determined Jim Kirk. Therefore he'd allowed himself to be manhandled into a submissive position. He found, illogically, that he was not inclined to correct this error any time soon.

Jim's cool tongue found the bottom of his ear and maneuvered it into her mouth. He moaned. Not entirely of his own volition, his hips lifted to grind themselves against her body. The resulting sensation caused an almost blinding spike of lust to surge through him, and Jim's movement stuttered. "Holy shit! What _was_ that?" she breathed unsteadily.

"I believe I am experiencing… some emotional transfer… at this time," he answered, reaching for her hand and twining their fingers together obscenely. "Oh!" he panted. "Jim, I… I _want_…"

"How could I have ever thought this would be scary," she murmured, before closing her teeth around a point of cartilage. Spock squirmed. "Please," he whispered. "Please, please, oh _tishau nash-veh k'dular_…!"

"Mmm," purred Jim, causing the sensitive bones in his aural canal to vibrate exquisitely. "I don't know what that means, but I think I like it." Her hands were inexorably peeling away his clothing. With a lithe shrug, he added his own efforts to hers, tossing his shirt to the floor as she worked on the closure of his pants. "God, you're sexy. I could look at you for hours."

"Please do not," he begged. Further delay would surely cause his mind to break. She kissed him hotly and he groaned into her mouth as little shocks and sparks of arousal leapt from her skin to his. Her hands slowed, rubbing his chest and stomach in long, tantalizing sweeps, and something within him snapped.

Finding his strength, he reversed their positions in one elegant move and closed in until their noses touched. "You are an unrepentant tease," he growled, watching her pupils dilate. "I will have you now," he added in a tone that brooked no argument.

"Yes, thanks," Jim whispered fervently. He stripped away her clothing with unseemly haste and dipped his fingers into her center, shivering at the moisture there. She gave a soft, desperate cry as he explored the unfamiliar anatomy, seeking out the points that brought her the most pleasure. "Need you!" she gasped shortly. He thoroughly agreed with the sentiment. Of one accord, they came together, their voices mingling in relief as he entered her body.

He moved in her, uncertain at first but rapidly acclimating to instinct. She moved in him, the beat of her heart and the upward spiraling of her responses kindling his fever. He shoved his face into the hollow of her neck and scraped his teeth helplessly across her pulse points, struggling with the urge consume her entirely as the rocking of their hips nudged him closer to the edge. "Spock!' she hissed, arching up.

"That is my name," he growled into her skin.

"Do… do the thing. Please… oh _mmmm_…"

"The… thing," he panted. "You will need to… ah! Elucidate! As my deductive processes are currently… oh, _Jim_!"

"Mind thing. Hands -" She shifted her legs to wrap high around his waist, her ankles pressing deliciously between his shoulder blades. "You wish to meld us," he snarled, the thought causing a fierce wave of possessiveness to sweep through him. She pled without words, her hands clutching his hair with almost painful strength. "_Yes_," he gasped, releasing a handful of thigh to reach for her meld points. "My mind to your mind -"

_(My thoughts to your thoughts)_

He was thrust into a raging storm of Jim. A riot of sensory input. Images hit him with the speed of bullets and whirled past him just as quickly, making him reel, making him spin. Distantly he was aware that the pace of their love-making had increased, that they were slamming into one another, both desperate to reach a pinnacle -

As their climax hit, he saw a bright thread of light twisting out towards him, so purely _good_ it made him weep as he reached out -

When he touched it, his mind and hers abruptly slotted together. Like two pieces of a broken plate, he and Jim and Jim and he ceased to be two things and became one and by the gods how could he have known, how had he believed he knew what love was when there was this this this _unity_ -

They came back to themselves gradually, in twitches and starts. The fire of his body had cooled and softened but he had no desire to un-join them, content to remain within the cradle of her hips and merely… be. Gravity had pulled his own tears down to mingle with hers.

"Spock?" she quavered, in a voice too faint for human ears to discern. "What h-happened? Why d-do I f-f-feel… I _feel_…"

"As I feel?" he offered quietly. "As though the world of my fathers has been upended and assembled anew?"

She nodded quickly, her damp salty cheek rubbing against his.

"I have found the other half of my soul," he whispered, "in you. We are t'hy'la." He could not stop himself from pressing his lips against her temples, against the very points that had made him whole. "In all the universe, you are the one being who can make my katra complete. And I have _found you_."

"Soul mate," she translated, the shining bond between them rendering dictionaries moot.

He waited for her to struggle with it. The enormity of it. The impossibility…

But she merely shifted her face until their lips met, and kissed him. "That sounds about right," she said.

He felt her belief, her absolute acceptance. And in that moment, he was both lost and found.


	15. Chapter 14

****Over 100 reviews?! You guys, I do not even know about this. I feel like I'm taking crazy pills. You're AWESOME.****

* * *

Things with the Klingon Empire were not going exactly according to plan. True, there had been no raids or attacks in several days, but rather than continue talks with the Federation, the Klingons seemed happy to sit in the sky and await developments. Pike suspected they were taking Jim's advice and putting out feelers on their colonies. For hotheads, Klingons could be downright logical when they wanted to be.

They played the long game.

A number of vessels appearing to be Romulan in nature were still poking around suspiciously, however, so brass decided New Vulcan needed another push. And guess who they decided to send?

Pike was starting to wonder if his headache would ever go away. He developed a new appreciation for McCoy's preoccupation with booze and cheesy sitcoms - being surrounded by stupidity 24-7 drove a man to drink or to insanity in short order.

"She's the only Ambassador we've got out there," Komack explained, with the blissful air of a man who had no idea the horrors Lieutenant Samantha Jameson Kirk could commit before breakfast. Captain Pike opened his mouth to explain that letting Jim loose on a planet full of Vulcans was possibly the worst idea ever conceived in the history of Starfleet, but instead he swallowed a sigh and said, "Yes sir."

After T'Pau and the Council nerve-pinched Kirk and sent her to Gol for processing, Pike was determined to point at Komack and say, "He did it." He tapped his communicator and began the business of summoning his bridge.

Spock, in typical stone-faced fashion, merely nodded at the news. Jim responded with a wide rictus of a grin, but her eyes flashed over to the Science Officer quickly.

_(Panic panic panic panic_ was the emotion that funneled through the new bond between them. Fascinating, Spock thought to himself. Her body appears relaxed, yet her mind is in turmoil. He applied soothing pressure to the golden buzz of their new link and her smile became marginally more genuine.)

The rest of the bridge crew had a myriad of opinions to offer on the subject, which Pike would normally encourage but which at this point only agitated him further. "You're kidding," Uhura said flatly.

"They made her an Ambassador?" Sulu questioned bewilderedly.

McCoy muttered a long, vehement string of curses just under his breath. All he needed was a red moustache and he could double as Yosemite Sam.

Chekov laughed so hard his tiny body toppled over into a chair.

"Thanks, guys," Jim said sarcastically. "The faith and support is overwhelming." She pivoted on a heel, then glanced back at Pike. "What time do I need to be down there?"

"0900 tomorrow," he repeated grimly.

"Oh, good," she said tonelessly. "Okay, I'll be in my room until then."

Only Spock knew she was going there to frantically research Vulcan etiquette, and he didn't say anything. After all, Jim had a reputation to uphold.

* * *

"On behalf of the Vulcan people, I welcome thee to our home," said the ancient looking woman in the scariest set of dress robes Christopher had ever seen. "I am T'Pau of the House of Surak."

To his relieved surprise, Jim stepped forward and bowed stiffly from the waist. "I am Samantha Jameson Kirk, daughter of Franklin Tiberius Kirk. I come to serve."

T'Pau studied the group of officers silently. Pike got the feeling T'Pau took exactly as much time as she meant to in all things. Jim, who was continuing to shock him, did not fidget but bore the scrutiny passively. "Thou art not of this time," T'Pau concluded suddenly. Pike was the one to jump.

"No, Councilor," Jim agreed. Then, seeming to realize an explanation was expected of her, she continued. "In my time, it was believed that you bombed the Terran embassy."

_And it was going so well_... Pike swallowed a moan of despair, and Spock made a noise like a hissing kettle. However, T'Pau did not suddenly breathe fire or order them to be executed in the streets. Instead, she folded her hands beneath her sleeves. "I take it thou hast since corrected thy understanding of my person," T'Pau intoned, and damned if the old girl didn't sound amused.

"Yes, ma'am," Jim said politely.

"It is well," said T'Pau, glancing briefly to the side. At once a young Vulcan woman in a rather severe-looking uniform appeared. "I will see you to your accommodations," the younger woman said robotically.

"Tomorrow at the tenth bell, you will come before the Council," was the matriarch's last instruction before beckoning for her litter. In response, Jim raised her right hand in an almost perfect salute. "Dif... tor heh... smusma_," _she said carefully.

"Sochya eh dif," T'Pau responded. And the corners of her solemn mouth twitched ever so slightly upward.

* * *

Their quarters were clean and efficiently lovely, but the climate control had not yet been activated.

"Good grief!" Jim exclaimed. "Why is it so _hot_? What is this, Mos Eisley?"

Spock, who if he were a less cerebral being might admit to enjoying the weather, merely gazed out the window. "It is not, as you say, hot. Rather the Enterprise is cold. Here it is a mild and pleasant day." He paused. "Where is Mos Eisley?"

"In a galaxy far, far away," Jim muttered, swiping at her forehead. "I need like a hundred bottles of sunscreen. And a big honkin' hat. Know where we could get that?" Spock recalled the colony lay out, and took a moment to formulate directions to the nearest non-Vulcan vendor in his mind. "Come," he said, gesturing, and she followed him miserably out into the heat. He sent thoughts of cool water through the link, fighting a most unseemly urge to laugh.

Which is, of course, when they ran in to one of his least tolerable acquaintances. For a male named after a founder, this creature was regrettably immature. "Solkar," Spock greeted neutrally, inclining his head.

"Viltah," Solkar spat.

Spock considered his erstwhile tormentor with detachment. Absently, he recalled his studies on Earth. There he had come across a curious human idiom wherein humans with light hair, particularly human females, were thought to be unintelligent. Jim Kirk, who was now narrowing her eyes and squaring her feet, was proof positive of the fallacy of the 'dumb blond' stereotype. "Excuse me?" she said in a dangerous tone of voice. Clearly etiquette was not all she had been studying last night.

"Care to explain your statement, buddy?" she pressed.

"Do not address me so familiarly, outworlder," Solkar sniffed.

"You invited my address when you insulted my crewmate," she told him firmly. Solkar had the grace to look startled. "I suppose I should be insulted as well, given that you obviously assumed I was too ignorant to learn your language," she continued. "_Well_?"

Solkar paused. "It does not concern you," he said after some thought.

"On the contrary," she insisted. "As your guest and your superior, I demand both an explanation and an apology." Solkar's face darkened, and he opened his mouth to say Spock knew not what, but he was interrupted by a male Elder striding towards them.

"Youngling, do my ears deceive me?" said the older male. "Have you already shown discourtesy to our honored visitors? Return to your clan-home at once. I will have words with you and your head of house." Solkar retreated with the same elegance of movement Jim had noted so often in Spock's bearing, but there was no denying he was fleeing with his tail between his legs. She watched his hurried departure with obvious satisfaction.

The Elder was bowing towards them. "I apologize for the behavior of my charge," he said. "We have not been introduced, but I -" As the old man straightened, his eyes widened. Spock blinked, and Jim looked puzzled. "I'm sorry sir, I should introduce _myself_," she said into the silence. "My name is -"

"James T. Kirk," the Elder breathed.

* * *

_**Dun dun dun!**_


	16. Chapter 15

"Uhh... close," Jim said cautiously. "Samantha Jameson, actually. But you can call me -"

"Jim," the man concluded. "I am Selek." Jim squinted at him. "No," she determined. "I don't think you are. How do I know you?"

Spock observed the pair of them with dawning dismay. The man was indeed familiar. He displayed all the phenotypical characteristics of Spock's own clan-members, right down to the tiny green birthmark behind his left ear... Oh.

"_Spock?_" Jim shrieked. Her eyes flickered between the two Vulcan men. "What the_ hell_?"

"Lower your voice, ashaya," the old man urged. "I will explain all. Come -"

"Ashaya?" Spock challenged angrily.

'Selek' had the grace to look abashed. "Forgive me. I am not... fully in control at this moment. If you will both return with me to my home, I will attempt to help you understand."

Shock and confusion were the main emotions coming through the bond from Jim. Shaking her head, she allowed herself to be led from the street towards a series of abodes, Spock following closely behind. He was aware of a curious... resonance between himself and the older man, not the same as his magnetic attraction to Jim, but similarly disconcerting. During their walk, he concluded that he _did not like it._

Selek opened an unlocked door and bowed. "Please be welcome in my lodgings," he told them formally. Jim entered first, her wariness apparent in the drag of her feet. Spock met her eyes reassuringly before entering as well.

Selek closed the door behind them and paused in the entryway, seemingly attempting to suppress something. Spock noted with dispassion that the old man's hands were trembling at his sides.

"Hey," said Jim softly. "Are you okay?"

"Jim," Selek replied tenderly. Before Spock could blink, Jim had slid into Selek's arms and he was holding her closely, pressing his age-spotted nose into her hair. "I did not think I would see you again before my death," Selek murmured helplessly.

"Shh," Jim soothed, glancing past the man's shoulder to meet Spock's eyes. "I've got you. _Both_ of you," she amended. Gradually Selek controlled himself enough to withdraw, resuming his proper upright stance. "Forgive me, my young self," he said to Spock. "I know this all must seem very strange."

"Indeed," Spock said coldly.

"I am not of this timeline," Selek explained quietly. "In my past... your future... my failings led to a singularity between our two worlds that eventually resulted in the appearance of the one you called Nero. Thanks to Lieutenant Scott I was able to impart enough of my knowledge to prevent the destruction of Earth... but I was not able to save Vulcan, or our parents. To help you understand, I am willing to share my memories of the events." He looked at Jim, but Spock stepped forward.

"If you need to meld in order to pass on your experiences, you may do so with me," Spock said, making it very clear by his tone that Jim was not an option. Jim, sensing the atmosphere, remained uncharacteristically silent. Selek nodded.

He reached his aged fingers out to settle on Spock's psi-points. "I fear I must warn you. Although I have meditated extensively in the past few years, there may still be some emotional transference."

"I am prepared," Spock answered calmly. "Very well," said Selek. "My mind to your mind..."

Jim gasped as the presence of Spock in her mind suddenly doubled in intensity. Dim echoes of pain and loss lapped at her. Instinctively she pushed a wave of love and acceptance forward, and two Vulcan mouths relaxed in response. Selek gently broke the meld.

"I see you have discovered one another in this timeline as well," he said with what passed for a Vulcan smile. "I am grateful. When I realized James Kirk was not the Captain of the Enterprise, I feared his katra was lost to this world. To learn otherwise is... a great relief."

"_His_ katra?" Jim asked shrewdly.

"Yes," Selek said evenly. "In my timeline, James Kirk is male."

"Well, hot damn," she whistled. "Indeed," said both Spocks simultaneously. She laughed.

* * *

Spock had been before the High Council before, in the event of his aborted bonding with T'Pring, and again when he applied for membership to the VSA. He'd never quite forgotten the intimidation factor involved. He worried briefly that Jim's reaction might be negative, but he needn't have feared - she pattered easily up to the supplicant's podium and waited to be introduced.

_Oh man look at that lady she must be even older than T'Pau holy moses and even less cuddly_

Spock should probably have shielded his thoughts, but having a direct 'line-in' to the inner workings of Jim Kirk's mind proved… diverting. His eyes flickered over to Councilor T'Pol, currently the object of Jim's fascination. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Council. I forwarded a transcript of our previous meetings with Chancellor Gorkon to your attention, I hope it came through all right?" Jim's physical voice was stringently courteous.

"Indeed," crackled T'Pol. The Elder's voice was inflectionless, but her face was not.

_Guess she didn't like it very much hoo boy remember when I took that picture of my butt in high school and sent it to everyone on the server the Principal's face looked just like hers does now - _"I thought it went well," Jim said, inclining her head respectfully. "But I am not trained in the art of diplomacy. I would welcome your guidance in future endeavors."

Councilor Selek (_Old Spock_, Jim's mental voice supplied) interjected gently. "As you are not currently dead or on fire, Ambassador Kirk, it seems your talks were indeed partially successful."

_I wonder how old he is probably about 200 years old still oddly hot though I wonder what HIS butt looks like could be good could be bad who can tell under those robes don't know why that principal got so mad back then anyways all my friends said it was a really good picture_ "I am gratified that you would say so," she replied gracefully. Young Spock, standing beside her, made a choking noise which he tried to cover up with a sneeze. "Okay, Commander?" she asked him softly.

"I am no longer accustomed to sand," he lied quietly, "but is only a matter of re-acclimating." Nodding, Jim turned her attention back to the matter at hand.

"From the information imparted to me by Captain Pike, it is my understanding that despite the current threat you do not wish to evacuate your people."

"You have evidently read so," T'Pol replied sharply. "It is illogical to request further discussion of a closed matter."

"It is your decision," Jim agreed quietly, surprising more than one person in the room. "However, I would like to respectfully suggest alternative measures of protection." There was a soft murmuring noise as Council members talked among themselves. "Speak your thoughts," T'Pau said at last.

"Your main threat is from a covert section of the Romulan secret police, although they have the dubious support of the Praetor. They do not seek your annihilation. Their intent is to enslave you, every man, woman and child of your race."

"Upon what evidence do you base this statement?" T'Pol demanded. Jim looked at her penetratingly, then glanced to her side. "Councilor Selek, Lady T'Pau. Do I speak true?" she asked softly. The indicated two looked at one another.

"You do," T'Pau said heavily. "Though I find myself wishing you did not." There was another outbreak of murmuring, louder this time and more heated. "What would you have us do?" one Elder demanded. "Put the spear in our enemy's heart?"

"No, Councilor," Jim demurred. "I would have you protect yourselves, and in so doing, protect the legacy of logic. Reach out your careful hand to meet the hands of those that reach out to you. Once you are safe, then you may extend your wisdom to those who were once your enemy."

Spock was not sure if he were offended or impressed. But he was very, very glad he had given Jim a copy of the Principles. "Let us be specific," T'Pol was saying coldly. "What is your plan of action?"

"Avail yourselves of the Federation's help. Make peace with the Klingons. Consider carefully whether a life of slavery is what you would have for your young ones, and take the appropriate action," Jim replied succinctly.

"Better death than slavery," T'Pol nodded.

"Better neither," Jim shot back, with a tinge of barely suppressed anger. "Do not be so quick to condemn yourselves. Nobility lies in action, not principle." Several Elders sucked in a shocked breath at that before quickly schooling their faces. T'Pau interrupted quickly. "It has never been done, since the Time of Awakening, this course of which you speak. To actively defend, to ally ourselves with warmongers, this is not tradition," she explained.

"And yet," said Jim, "change is the essential process of all existence." T'Pau bowed her head, and Spock saw that she was moved. "Lady, I beg thee. Consider my words. The loss of your culture, of your wisdom, would grieve this universe sorely."

"Ambassador, you have spoken eloquently," said Selek, rising from his seat. Jim's hind-brain, which had been silent for several minutes, sparked happily. _Sweet Old Spock_, it hummed. _Kind good Selek-Spock_. "Rest assured we will carefully consider everything you have said in our subsequent deliberations. Go now in peace, and await our summons."

Both Jim and her Commander bowed low. As they exited the room, Spock glanced at her face, and got a bewildering grin in return. "I think they listened," Jim whispered.

"You are a menace," he told her, shaking his head.


	17. Chapter 16

**** Just a quick blurb to tide you over until the weekend. I have a fairly good idea of where I want this whole story to go and how I want to end, it's just a matter of 'tying up loose ends' so to speak. I welcome your suggestions. (Please, please, pretty please?)**

**To answer a query, no, I don't intend any kind of spicy three-ways between Jim and the Spocks. Not that that isn't… hot, in its own way, because it totally is. I just think of Spock Prime as being a kind of stranger in a strange land, you know? He needs a comrade, and super!Jim will oblige! Don't worry, he'll be fine in the end. The prophets have foretold it! :P****

* * *

Spock remained silent all the way back to their accommodations, but his eyebrows did not. They were, to put it metaphorically, shouting at the top of their lungs. As Jim dashed into the cold air and struggled to remove her uniform shirt, he quietly composed himself near the door. "What is it?" she asked him, stripping off the final sleeve.

He ruminated on the best way to respond to such a question. "Although I witnessed your speech with my own senses, I still find it… 'hard to believe,' I think is the phrase, that you lectured the High Council with quotes from the Analects." Though he kept careful control of the bond between them, something in his tone or his face must have alerted her, because she quickly assumed a defensive posture.

"You said they would listen to me if I was logical," she stressed. "I couldn't think of anything more logical than King Logic himself!"

He stiffened. "It is not, as you say, _logical_ to offend those whom you wish to persuade!" He briskly retrieved his luggage from the floor, turning his back on her to unpack it. "As a student of Vulcan culture from the time of my birth, I can say with some certainty that your words were offensive."

She did not immediately respond.

Although he was highly perturbed, some part of him was still intrigued by the way she seemed to sort through a series of emotions, choosing the one she intuited would serve her best in the current situation. She flashed through anger, sadness, irritation, and guilt before settling on understanding. She closed in behind him, setting a tentative hand on his wrist. He stilled his motions.

"I didn't think of it that way," she admitted softly. "It's been so long since I considered anything sacred, that I forgot what it was like to… feel strongly about a subject. If I came across as glib or flippant, it was not my intention." She sighed, moving a little bit away to pace restlessly. "In fact I really enjoyed the texts you lent me. I find much of Surak's writings to be… wise. Thought-provoking. I thought if I applied them to this situation, it might get my point across better than if I relied on my own human words. I didn't consider the… cultural impact."

He forced the tension to leave his limbs. He knew that from her perspective, she had done the best she could to persuade the Council to accept aid. And he knew that her ultimate goal was the protection of his people. However, she was so… brash! She leapt without looking. He, as her Commander and as her bond-mate, could have advised and cautioned her if she had only brought her queries to his attention.

Truth be told she had done better than any of her kind before her. That didn't mean he had to like her methods. He knew his rampant emotionalism was flowing freely through their linked minds and could not stop the sense of self-castigation that knowledge brought. As she halted her pacing and moved back to his side, he closed his eyes.

He felt her hand settle on his brow, like a cool balm. It struck him that this was the way she had first touched him, all those weeks ago. He had not known where that touch would lead him, then. He was not sure he knew now. "You've had a rough time of it recently, haven't you?" she murmured.

"If you would clarify," he bit out.

"War councils with Klingons, the potential destruction of your people, meeting your future self… falling in love with a crazy human. Not exactly standard fare for you, is it?" He opened his eyes to look at her. She read his inner conflict with a glance. Sliding her hand up to brush through his hair, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Meditate. I'll go find that shop you were pointing out earlier. I'll be back before dinner."

He didn't thank her out loud, but as she opened the door to the outside, he knew she felt his gratitude.

* * *

Jim had read that it was rude to enter a Vulcan shop unannounced, so as she swept aside the cloth covering the entryway, she called out, "May I enter?"

"Enter and be welcome," a voice answered in Standard. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw two shopkeepers, an Andorian and a middle-aged Vulcan, as well as two or three other patrons. "I'm looking for topical sun-protection as well as other protective clothing," she told the young Andorian woman, who led her smoothly to a set of shelves.

Jim quickly chose an all-purpose sunblock and a round, wide-brimmed hat made of woven plant fibers. Knowing Spock would need at least an hour to sort through his emotions, she lingered over a display of old-fashioned books. The subjects and languages represented were eclectic, but she noted a number of field guides and books of simple Vulcan folklore that appealed to her. _I'm such a tourist_, she thought ruefully. Well, she had a Starfleet salary now. TIme to put it to good use.

Choosing three texts, she was about to make her way to the counter when someone behind her hissed in Vulcan and a sharp-boned bundle collided with her legs, causing her armful of goods to go flying. "_Nirak T'Pren_!" snapped the Vulcan shopkeeper. Jim looked down to see a tiny girl staring up at her with frightened eyes. "Hello there," she said bemusedly. The child remained silent.

"Forgive her rudeness, Ambassador," said the shopkeeper. "She does not speak. She is _pakik_."

"Nam-tor ri thrap wilat nem-tor rim," Jim replied gently. "T'Pren is your name, little one?" The child did not answer, but her eyes remained fixed on Jim's face. "My Lady, how does she come to be lost? My time is not currently occupied. Can I assist in taking her home?"

"Not pukap-tor, Ambassador," said the Vulcan woman hesitantly. "Pakik is… one who does not belong. One without clan." The shopkeeper averted her eyes, obviously uncomfortable. "After the great tragedy -"

"I see," Jim interrupted. _Orphan_, she realized. Her heart went out to the little being at her feet. There must be many like her. Why was she alone, in a public shop? Why would they call her a _lost one_?

Jim was never one to hesitate in the face of possible injustice. She made up her mind and knelt down. "T'Pren, I am Jim. I am very hot and thirsty. Will you show me to a place where I may sit and drink?" The child regarded her solemnly for a moment, and at first Jim thought she would not answer. But then she nodded, shortly. She waited while Jim's purchases were added up and bagged, then led the way from the shop, her tiny body unnaturally graceful in the glaring sun.

* * *

**_Pakik_ - something/someone who is lost, who is no longer in possession (noun)

**_pukap-tor _- lost, no longer in the possession of (adjective)

**_Nam-tor ri thrap wilat nem-tor rim_ - There is no offense where none is taken.


	18. Chapter 17

****Happy Fourth to all my American readers! Everyone else - happy Thursday. :P****

* * *

The night-bell rang through the city, although it would be another hour before the sun sank in the sky. The Council had called a recess to allow for reflection and refreshment. As Selek made his way through the streets to his home, he wondered if he might prevail upon Jim and his alternate self to join him in the evening meal. Perhaps it was unwise, since if Jim asked him about the meeting he would undoubtedly be tempted to tell her. Yet the thought of once again being "thick as thieves" with his t'hy'la sent a warm thrum through his bones.

Most shops were closing, but the tea-house often stayed open late to accommodate citizens just now retiring from their day's work. He glanced into the decorative windows where an attendant was lighting candles in preparation for the coming darkness, and spotted a scene that stopped him in his tracks. A dusty, sunburnt Jim sat across a table from a Vulcan child, talking animatedly. Half-empty plates of Vulcan delicacies and cups of theris-masu littered the tabletop. The child did not speak, but held her cup between her hands and listened.

With a pang, he recognized the child as one of his students. In addition to his Council duties, Selek oversaw his sector's public education system; most families still attended to their progenies' education at home until puberty, but after the destruction of Vulcan there were many children without such a support system in place. Selek did not personally teach the younger students himself, but he knew the face and name of every child under his care. This girl, T'Pren, was of some note, as she had responded to the loss of her parents and clan by becoming utterly withdrawn and silent. A regrettable state of affairs, as the chances of a Vulcan family adopting a child with such issues was slim when so many exemplary students needed homes.

He suppressed a smile. No one else in his circle of acquaintance would notice a lonely child in the streets of New ShiKahr, let alone take her out to tea, but it was very like the Jim he had known to do so. Unable to resist the pull of affectionate curiosity, he entered the tea-house and bowed. "Councilor," intoned the shop mistress.

"Selek!" Jim cried happily, then flushed as she realized her faux-pas. "Sorry," she whispered. He made his way over, carefully schooling his expression, but he knew the twinkle in his eye gave him away. "May I sit?" he asked courteously.

"Of course you can," Jim retorted, as if he had said something intentionally stupid. "Hey, this is T'Pren. T'Pren, Ambassador Selek." He took a seat. "We are acquainted," he informed Jim. "She is a student at the City Academy."

"Wow, T'Pren, you didn't tell me Selek was one of your teachers," Jim remarked proudly. Selek suspected T'Pren had not spoken a single word to Jim on any subject, but refrained from comment. "He's really smart," the human continued blithely. "Probably even smarter than me! You're getting an awesome education."

"I am gratified to hear you think so highly of my abilities," Selek said drily.

"Don't get modest on me, man. Modesty is illogical, don't you know?" Jim glanced at the window, then straightened. "Oh sh-shoot, what time is it? I promised Spock I'd be home for dinner!"

"It is approximately 18:53 Standard time," Selek responded.

"It's freaky how you do that," Jim said. She looked thoughtfully at him, then glanced at T'Pren, whose little shoulders had stiffened slightly. "You think anyone would mind if she eats with us?" she asked him suddenly. "Us?" he replied, startled.

"Yeah. You, me, my Spock. Who did you think I meant?" That warm feeling suffused him again. Sometimes, he recalled, it was better just to fall into Jim Kirk's orbit without protest. "I will contact her caretakers, but I do not believe anyone will object to her absence," he informed her fondly.

A vague sadness crossed her face, but was quickly masked. "Would you like to eat dinner at my house, little one?" Jim asked the child. T'Pren gazed at her wordlessly, then nodded once. "Excellent." She rose to pay the attendant, leaving the two Vulcans at the table. He watched as the little girl's eyes followed Jim to the counter and back again. Jim, ever the thoughtless human, extended her hand in the manner of a Terran mother preparing to take her offspring across the street. Selek supposed he had no right to feel surprised when T'Pren reached out and took the proffered fingers without hesitation.

After all, Jim Kirk's gravity was inescapable.

* * *

S'chn T'gai Spock was unsure how he would classify his status after a lengthy meditation, but perhaps the human word 'silly' held some aptitude. He felt as though he had been very silly. After all, everything distressing that had happened to him over the past 300 hours had also happened to Jim, and she seemed quite unruffled. He, on the other hand, had demonstrated a distinct lack of control. It was a source of shame to him that his human bond-mate proved more stalwart than he in the arena of emotion.

She certainly had not deserved his ire. Nor should he have blamed her for not seeking his counsel prior to her speech. She was arguably less prepared than either he or Captain Pike when it came to interspecies diplomacy, yet she accepted the burden on their behalf, with startling results. He should have offered his assistance rather than requiring her to ask for it.

Not to mention, if one stripped his own emotional response away, her words _had_ possessed an unorthodox but nevertheless valid logic.

As 1800 hours approached, he decided to occupy the remaining time with his PADD researching Terran reconciliation techniques. After ten minutes of study he determined that 'groveling' may be required if he wished to procure Jim's forgiveness. He had no opportunity to obtain gifts or cards, but was intrigued by the suggestion that he should kiss her feet. His own feet were quite sensitive. He imagined that if Jim were to kiss them, he would become mildly aroused. Did Terrans believe arousal to be an integral part of managing disputes between bond-mates? Fascinating.

Osculation in general seemed to be a key feature in the Terran apology matrix. Very well. For the good of his relationship, Spock would osculate.

Satisfied with his plan and fully prepared to 'kiss and make up,' Spock faced the door and awaited the chime that announced Jim's arrival. When 1900 hours had passed and she still had not come, he struggled to suppress his worry.

When, at 19:07, she arrived with both Selek and an unnamed Vulcan child in tow, he decided he should stop making plans indefinitely. (According to the data, every time he made a plan involving Jim, things went desperately wrong. 100% of the time. He may have stumbled upon a new Universal Constant - the Do Not Make Plans About Jim Constant.) Jim set an armful of vegetables onto the tiny en-suite table, while Selek gravely carried in a number of other purchases. "Hey Spock!" Jim called to him happily, brushing his frowning cheek with her lips. "Sorry I'm late, I ran into a couple of people on the way."

The small Vulcan female stood in the doorway uncertainly. "Come on in, honey," Jim encouraged with a beckoning gesture. "You're welcome! Spock, this is T'Pren." Her blue eyes sparkled, and he found himself without comment. "She was kind enough to rescue me from the heat and take me to a tea shop."

Feeling ridiculous, he inclined his head towards the child. "I thank thee for thy care, T'Pren. Welcome to our temporary home."

The girl did not respond, other than to edge slightly nearer to his bond-mate. As Spock's eyebrow drifted upwards, Jim interceded. "T'Pren's kind of a quiet type. That's all right, isn't it?" Selek nodded gravely and Spock was impelled to do the same. Satisfied, Jim swooped in and busied herself with the child's comfort. Selek moved to the table where the groceries rested and began unpacking. "As I am your guest," the Elder said, "it would be my privilege to prepare the evening meal."

"Great," Jim agreed. "I have no idea how to cook Vulcan food." Rummaging around until she found her gold tunic from earlier, she wrapped the garment around T'Pren to stave off the chilly air. "There. Are you warm? Good. Do you want to watch a holovid? No? Okay. I need to wash up, but I'll be right back. Be good!"

Spock followed his human into the tiny bathroom, watching as she drew a half-sink of water and scrubbed her face and hands. "Jim," he began, before knowing exactly what he wanted to say. He was forced to stop speaking and think about it. "Jim, who is that child, and why is she not with her clan?" Wide blue eyes rose to meet his through the mirror.

"She's a Nero orphan," she whispered back. "She was by herself in the shops. They called her _pakik_, Spock…" The distress in her face hurt him. Gathering her up and handing her a towel, he rested his chin on her dusty hair. "I bought her a drink and talked to her. When Selek said she wouldn't be missed for dinner, I couldn't leave her."

He rubbed her arms absently. "You have a heart of compassion, ashayam," he remarked.

"She's treated like an outcast. How many more of her are out there? What are we going to do?" she asked him, and he wondered why he'd thought he would make an adequate guide for her on matters of his culture. Truly he did not know the correct answer to her question. "We will think on it tonight," he assured her, trying to project calm. Her relief slammed into him, and he realized she had thought he would try to censure her. "No, kdiwa," he assured her, thinking of his own childhood bitterly. "You are right to act against injustice."

"Thank you," she breathed, pulling him down for a kiss. Terrans were wise in many matters, he decided as her tongue caressed his. Kissing was a most pleasant way of mending bridges.


	19. Chapter 18

***Just a quick one for the weekend. I know it's late and short but I'm full of fever and grossness. Forgive me?**

**Warnings: More sex. If you don't like that or you're not old enough, skip the last section. Love!****

* * *

Dinner had been surprisingly peaceful. Spock was still slightly perturbed by how easy Jim was with his older counterpart, lightly baiting him with her unique brand of Terran humor and receiving Selek's unguarded responses with equanimity. T'Pren was less unnerving - Vulcan children were accustomed to eating in silence when in the company of adults. Jim, however, seemed to take exception to the child's stillness and spent much of the evening engaging her in one-sided conversation. There was, Spock admitted to himself, something very pleasant in the way Jim handled the girl. Gentle and warm, bordering on maternal. Memories of his own mother drifted through his mind, and for the first time in years there was no pain associated with them.

Jim caught the tenor of his thoughts and favored him with one of her shattering smiles. He somehow doubted he would ever develop an immunity to those. As the meal drifted to a close and Jim cozened T'Pren into helping her with the dishes, Spock glanced towards Selek, who was surveying the room with a distinctly unVulcan grin. "You show your emotions quite readily," Spock noted quietly.

"A benefit of my advanced age," Selek replied genially. "I am less inclined to worry over the opinions of others. I trust you will not expose me to my peers?"

"That would be at cross-purposes to my own needs," Spock agreed.

"Indeed. I am grateful for your… discretion. Also for your acceptance. I find tonight's company to have been… cathartic, I suppose is the word. It is good to no longer be alone."

Jim reappeared, drying her hands on a cloth. T'Pren pattered up beside her and tugged on her sleeve. "You need something, babe? Oh, the towel. Here." Jim watched her return to drying dishes with an air of contentment. "Your effect on sentient life-forms is as odd as ever, I see," Selek remarked. "The next time one of the planet's feral beasts wanders into our town, I will simply inform the guards to have you come and charm it." She smacked the old man's shoulder. "Old flatterer," she said.

"It is approaching the hour for sleep," Selek said regretfully, rising to his feet. "If you are agreeable I shall take young T'Pren back to her caretakers before returning to my home." Jim's smile faded and she glanced back towards the sink where the child still worked busily. "If you must," she sighed.

Spock noted the girl's slow return to stiffness as Selek collected her to leave. Over the course of the evening, a light had grown in T'Pren's eyes, but now they were once again dim and blank. Jim bent down to her and ran a callused hand over dark hair. "Come back soon," she said, and after a brief hesitation, the child nodded tersely. "And you," Jim said as she rose to kiss Selek's weathered cheek. He bowed gravely before steering his little ward off into the twilight.

She watched them through the window for a long moment, then stepped back into the shadow of Spock's body. His arms came up around her and held her close. "I don't like this," Jim told him honestly. "There is something not right with her. She's obviously bright. She's not acting out and she's clearly desperate for affection. Why is she so quiet, and why did she look like we throwing her to the wolves when she left?"

"I cannot yet say," Spock murmured, allowing his cheek to rest against her hair. "But I am in agreement. T'Pren's demeanor troubles me also."

Jim shook herself, breaking free of the circular thoughts he knew she was forming. "We'll find out after the Council meeting tomorrow. For now, let's wash up… and then bed?"

A sudden image of their earlier interlude flashed across his vision, and his fingers tightened briefly on her waist as he nodded. "That would be acceptable," he managed.

"Good," said Jim. "Want to share the shower? Waste not, want not?" His growling response made her gasp. She made a dash for the bathroom.

Spock put his superior speed to very effective use.

* * *

"I thought… you wished to… exercise economy," he gasped as he thrust into her, his actions nullifying his argument.

"This way we - hnng! - we'll be clean after!" she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut as something he did caused her to tighten around him. Hot water pounded into his back and dripped off his hair onto her collarbone. Hitching her legs higher on his waist, he bent down and licked the droplets off her skin. "Fuck!" she hissed. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders. He relished the sting as he used his hands to roll their hips more firmly together. "Indeed," he snarled, nipping her earlobe.

"Spock!" she cried, inarticulate. "I'm going to - I'm so close to -"

"_Yes,_" he rumbled, rocking faster. "Take your pleasure. Take _me_." She moaned and spasmed, gripping his head to her neck with almost painful strength. He tumbled over the edge with her, his vision whiting out as their senses jumbled together. There was no need for a meld in these moments. There was, he mused dizzily, no need for anything at all.

They slid down onto the tiles of the shower floor, panting as one. Slowly, tenderly, they extricated themselves from one another. He rubbed cleanser into her hair. She scrubbed him gently with a soapy cloth. They grew clean and tired in short order.

He wrapped her in a towel and kissed her neck. She dried his hair and mussed it and he allowed it, too content to feel outraged. When he had had enough of her irreverence, he simply lifted her up and carried her to bed, ignoring her muffled protests. She was asleep in his arms before her head hit the pillow.


	20. Chapter 19

****Boo! Late again! I dunno, guys, I've got freaking SARS or something. I have no idea if this chapter is delirious, or good. Everything looks brilliant when you're hopped up on NyQuil. **

**Let me know, please please please. P.S. You guys are the most amazing.****

* * *

"We cannot leave New Vulcan," said T'Pau to a subdued Jim. "We have lost too many and our people are still healing - to uproot them now, disturb their already disrupted meditative cycles, would result in catastrophic loss of life." Jim's lips pressed thin, but T'Pau continued before she could speak. "However..." she said, then paused. "However, the Council has determined that there is no shame in preservation. All life is precious, and the teachings of our culture worthy of continuance. Therefore we accept the Federation's offer of protection, and furthermore request support with the erection of a planetary defensive fortification, as well as training for our healers and lawmen. In addition, we extend the offer of friendship to the Klingon Empire and express our deep desire that Samantha James Kirk exert her influence to bring about an accord."

Spock could feel Jim's surprise and elation through their rapport, as well as her valiant effort to suppress a blinding grin. But he had explained to her the previous evening that Vulcans found the overt expression of emotion tasteless and alarming, so with Herculean will she schooled her features into calm. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Council, I thank you for your consideration, and give you my word that I will do everything in my power to act upon your wishes. Expect a detailed outline to be delivered no later than tomorrow morning. I also offer any expertise I may possess to assist your technicians with the construction of your defense system. My knowledge is your knowledge."

"We are grateful for thy service," T'Pau said gravely. She looked around at her peers. "Are there any additional matters to be addressed at this time?" There was a gentle murmuring amongst themselves, but no one spoke aloud. "Then this meeting is concluded. Ambassador Kirk, if you and your Science Officer would accompany me to my private quarters, I have some personal business to discuss with you."

Jim bowed. "I would be honored." As before, a single glance from T'Pau brought forth a young aide, who ushered Spock and Jim towards a small door. Settling into chairs, Jim and Spock looked at one another and exhaled.

"Any idea what this is about?" Jim asked presently.

"This morning I requested permission from my ko-mekh-il to induct T'Pren into the House of Surak. Perhaps that is the matter at hand."

"Did you really?" Jim beamed, eyes sparkling. "Wait... your grandmother? Why haven't I met her?"

"You have," Spock replied calmly. "I believe you are familiar with Lady T'Pau."

Jim's mouth dropped open. "T'Pau is your _grandmother_?"

"Indeed," said the lady in question, taking a seat behind the glass desk in front of them. Jim quickly closed her mouth, flushing red. "As the Matriarch of our house it is my duty to evaluate all potential members. Though irregular, Spock's request has precedent. As T'Pren currently has no clan, she is eligible for admission to another. The only thing that remains is to determine her worthiness."

"She has shown kindness to my bondmate when few others were so inclined. I have examined her academic work and behavior and found them more than satisfactory."

"Ah yes, thy bondmate," said T'Pau without a flicker of surprise. "Thou hast been remiss in thy introductions, I think."

"Affirmative," Spock responded. "Grandmother, I present to you Samantha James Kirk, my t'hy'la."

T'Pau's brow rose in a very familiar way. "If thou speak true, such a thing is a great gift."

"My words are accurate," Spock said solemnly.

"Then I welcome thee most gratefully, Okosu Kirk." T'Pau's expression grew stern as she turned her attention back to her grandson. "I trust thou will arrange a suitable ceremony soon?"

Jim had so far sat in silent bewilderment, but this proved too much. "Wait, wait, wait. You want us to get _married_?"

T'Pau merely gazed at her. Spock repressed a sudden urge to fidget as Jim's brow furrowed and she shot Spock a very deliberate thought.

_We are going to talk about this later. _

_It is my duty as Head of the House of Surak to observe tradition, ashayam_, he replied softly. _I shall do my best to allay all your concerns._

"If thou have completed your communications?" prompted T'Pau drily. "In the case of T'Pren, her service to Ambassador Kirk may be taken as proof of her worth. If the child be willing, I hereby support thy desire to bring her into our House, and enjoin thee to take her under thy care. Please present the documentation on the morrow."

"Yes, Lady," said Spock.

"Thou mayst disperse. And Spock?"

"Yes?"

"I acknowledge that thou hast chosen well."

* * *

Jim was uncharacteristically nervous as they stood before the matron of the orphanage, waiting for T'Pren. How could she care for a child? What if she screwed this up?

The sight of the solemn, sad-eyed child walking towards her in her dark robes melted her heart, and when T'Pren glanced up and brightened, Jim decided this was worth any amount of nerves. "Hey, kiddo," she said softly, extending two fingers in a gesture Spock had taught her. T'Pren quickly met those fingers with her own, then ducked her head bashfully. "Come sit down. Spock and I have something we want to ask you."

They settled in an alcove, the girl taking her seat close beside Jim. "I know that you have been alone for a long time," Jim began falteringly before mustering her courage. "And I know you have been very brave. But Spock and I were hoping you might consider... that is to say... we were wondering if you would like to join our clan."

T'Pren stiffened, hands flat on her knees. She stared at Jim with wide, wary eyes.

"We want you," Jim pressed, nonplussed. "_I_ want you. With us. Do you see?"

The child's eyes dropped to her lap, then closed. "Oh, honey," Jim broke, finally understanding. "We don't care about any of that. You're a gift just as you are."

T'Pren slowly unfroze and turned back to her. Her face was uncertain, almost pleading. She seemed to come to decision, and leaned in, her mouth near Jim's rounded ear. Spock watched with wonder as the girl swallowed once before whispering in his bondmate's ear.

"Yes," Jim said firmly, swiping her hand over the child's hair in a reflexive caress. "I promise."

T'Pren looked to Spock. "Everything she says is true," he told her. "You are wanted. By me as well."

"Will you join us?" Jim asked again.

T'Pren gave one short, sharp nod.


	21. Chapter 20

****I know it's late. I know that. It's not an excuse, but I've spent the weekend in the hospital with my friend who may not make it although I'm still praying for a miracle. **

**Oh and maybe I've read a LOT of Snape fanfiction to comfort myself instead of writing on my own story. It's just… I kind of have a Snape fixation. So noble, so brilliant, so misunderstood! No one gets him. Except me. I GET HIM YOU GUYS. That's why when Snape and I meet in real life, we will fall in love and have wizard babies.**

**Yeah pretend you didn't read that. Seriously. Enjoy!****

* * *

The rest of the day had gone well, or as well as days generally went with Jim Kirk around. The newly-formed trio made their way to Selek's house, where the Elder welcomed T'Pren into the clan with gentle words. The child herself had reverted to her original stiff behavior, but now and again would glance at Jim with a strange longing expression, as if she were half-convinced she would soon wake up and realize everything had been a lovely but futile dream. Jim herself seemed inordinately nervous and clumsy, and Spock found himself in the position of having to be comforting. It was not a role with which he had much experience.

His bondmate soon excused herself to work on the proposal she planned to present to the Council on the morrow. Selek moved into the kitchen to once again prepare an evening meal. He coaxed the shy new member of their House into helping him by claiming his old limbs were no longer suited to bending down for utensils. She followed all requests made of her with an extreme seriousness that struck both men as charming. In time, Spock thought she would blossom into an excellent specimen of a Vulcan.

Though perhaps not completely, he amended. Jim had a tendency to elicit an alarming amount of irregular behavior in a number of sentient beings, his own race included. T'Pren already demonstrated a propensity to tolerate excessive touching from the human, perhaps even derive satisfaction from it. Spock supposed he could not fault her for a weakness he himself shared, and so put it out of his mind.

Jim emerged some time later, tired but clearly satisfied. She flashed everyone a smile. "What's for dinner?" she asked cheerfully. T'Pren took it upon herself to set the table, fiercely concentrating on lifting the heavy salad bowl to the center without overbalancing. Sensing the girl was trying to prove something, Jim allowed her to do it without interfering and laid a hand on Spock's arm when he moved as if to help. At last things were arranged to the child's liking and they sat down to eat.

Jim eyed the strange tuber on her plate dubiously but bit back her comments, though Spock felt her desire to question. With a martyred air, she speared the vegetable on the end of a fork and took a bite. "Weird but good," she ultimately pronounced, and Selek ducked his head to hide his face. T'Pren gravely cut her own meal up into precise cubes before eating. Spock, having done the same as a young man, was secretly amused. At last they all sat back, replete. Jim turned to her ward. "Do you bathe in the morning?" T'Pren shook her head. "At night, then?" She nodded. "Okay, I think someone brought over your things while we were out. Let's get you ready for bed."

Silently adamant that she did not require assistance in the bath, the little girl disappeared into the bathroom with a well-worn robe and a towel that was ridiculously large in comparison to her tiny body. Spock listened carefully and only relaxed when he heard the shower start running. He told himself he was only doing his duty as a caretaker. Jim gave him a teasing look and rolled her eyes when he frowned at her. "Did I say thank you?" she murmured, settling into the couch. "Because, seriously. Thank you."

The tips of his ears flushed green. "Thanks are unnecessary," he replied. "It was the morally correct course of action, the only logical one to take."

"Mmhm," she hummed knowingly, before abruptly leaning over and pressing a cool kiss on his temple. "I'm still grateful. And I think you'll find I can be very… accommodating… when I'm grateful." He raised an eyebrow at her, trying to stifle the pang of arousal her words elicited. With Selek still washing the dishes, now was probably not the correct time to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off to their sleeping quarters. T'Pren chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom, clean and damp, and the moment was put aside for later perusal.

"Come sit down and I'll fix your hair," Jim offered, and after a brief hesitation T'Pren handed her a comb. "I still have to learn the Vulcan braids, "Jim confessed, "but a French braid should do for tonight." She gently removed as much water from the girl's hair as possible with the towel before combing it out and beginning to arrange it. "I'm not pulling too hard, am I?" she asked, and seemed relieved at the faint negation she received. Selek, having finished the washing up, settled himself in an armchair to watch her work. The resulting silence was not awkward but warm and comfortable.

"All right," Jim concluded. "Turn around and let me see you. How nice!" Her eyes flicked to a strange green blemish on the girl's temple. "Uh-oh. What happened here?" she asked, reaching out to touch the marks. As her fingers approached, T'Pren _flinched_, violently. Every adult in the room instantly froze.

Jim was the first to react, and her voice was deceptively calm. "Are you okay?" she asked. "I won't touch you if you don't want me to. I made you a promise to protect you and keep you, remember?" Slowly the child's eyes opened, filled with shame. "I wish you would tell me what happened, though," Jim continued evenly. "I would like to understand it."

There was a long, tense period where T'Pren did not respond at all. Then, fumblingly, she reached three fingers and touched them to Jim's psi-points. Jim bent down, ready for a meld, but the girl shook her head. She took her fingers down and touched them to her own points, then back to Jim's, then back to her own until her meaning became clear. "Someone melded with you and left those marks?" Jim guessed. T'Pren nodded, once.

"Did you agree to that?" Jim asked softly.

T"Pren shook her head, then looked away. "I see," Jim said. As if helpless to stop herself, she reached for the child's face again, but this time merely smoothed her palm down her cheek. "That won't happen again," Jim said simply. "All right, I think that's enough stress for one day, don't you? Come on sweetheart, I'll show you your room." She gathered the girl up in her arms and let her rest her head in the crook of Jim's neck before bearing her off to bed. Spock and Selek looked at one another, shocked and perturbed. To meld with a minor without consent was an egregious crime, one punishable by the harshest of sentences.

Jim emerged from the room where she had put T'Pren, and this time she was no longer calm. Her eyes burned with a fury that was so intense it made the hairs on the back of Spock's neck rise in fear. "Selek," she said, her voice soft and dangerous. Very dangerous.

"Yes?" he said quietly.

"You find the person who did this. You find the son of a bitch and you _make him stop_."

Spock realized in that moment that his humorous tender idealistic t'hy'la was fully capable of razing the world to the ground. Selek, apparently thinking on the same lines, paled and said the first thing that automatically came to his mind. "Yes, Captain," he croaked, and saluted.


	22. Chapter 21

****Whew. Okay, I think I'm back. Yeah. So. I'm the worst. The worst at all the things. Go ahead and let me have what-for if you want.**

**Sad update: My sweet lady friend got some bad news on her illness, and has settled into hospice. While I'm happy that she's finally able to rest and not be in pain anymore, I'm also a selfish prick who thinks this death shit is for the birds. I want to keep her and have fun with her forever, not lose her to the unfeeling cosmos. I dunno, it's just how I feel, she's dealing with the whole thing much more maturely than me or my family. Thanks for all of you who shared prayers and kind wishes, I know she can feel them. And without further ado, here's the crappy update you've been so patient for.****

After his involuntary words, the elder Vulcan had left the dwelling with slightly less-than-graceful speed. Spock surmised that Selek was intent on following Dr. Kirk's command with all due haste, and did not fault him. He himself felt a measure of emotional compromise in response to the evening's revelations, though much of the turmoil he was experiencing was not his own.

He turned to his Jim, something painful bursting in the side where his heart rested at her careful, broken way of retreating to their bedroom. He could not detect her thoughts and briefly recalled their initial 'meeting,' her startling ability to shut him out despite her species' purported lack of psi capabilities. Though he knew it was illogical, it hurt him that she felt it necessary to block him now, however instinctual to her that reaction might be. Unsure of his role, he occupied his mind by ticking through the possible reasons for her behavior.

One: Jim was a protector by nature, as evidenced by her actions against both the Romulan who tried to kill him and against the Klingons who threatened the crew of the Enterprise. It was overwhelmingly probable that she had extended that propensity to include T'Pren, especially considering the child's age and relative helplessness.

Two: Jim was a creature of action. Unlike Spock, who generally did not apply himself until he had thoroughly examined a situation, Jim allowed her intuition and instincts to guide her and rarely looked before she leapt. That she succeeded in overcoming obstacles in the majority of cases spoke to the exemplary quality of her mind... and heart.

Three... oh. Three. Jim had personal experience with mental violation.

Spock blinked. Then he moved, no longer held back by her defensive posture, and embraced her so thoroughly that her feet left the floor. Her muscles tensed as if to fight him and she emitted a muffled gasp, but he was too overcome to be cautious with her now. Anger, at the evil of the world and at the cruel twisting of fate, suffused him along with the lingering threads of her grief and rage. "It will not stand," he told her fiercely. "There will be justice, for T'Pren and all the children like her, if I must step into the flames to make it so."

A rush of feelings poured through the link. Sorrow, fear, wrath, love, lust. She burrowed her face into his chest and he did not tell her not to cry, for he knew without the catharsis of tears her katra would warp and tear. He rubbed his hands up and down her back, trying to make his hands gentle but knowing they probably weren't. She didn't mind. She didn't want gentleness.

"There are a number of things we are going to do now," she told him icily, not bothering to move her face away from his body to speak. He felt the drag of her lips against his shirt. "First, we're going to screw until I'm too tired to move. Then we're going to write T'Pau and tell her exactly what's going on. Then we're going to tear through that orphanage until we find the sick shit responsible, and put him down."

His head reeled. "Yes," he acquiesced, unable to do otherwise.

"Good," she barked, then began ripping his shirt off with no consideration for its physical integrity. He stood passively under the onslaught for a few seconds before joining her, his fingers brusque on the fastenings of her pants. "Hurry," she ordered, and he found himself vehemently agreeing. They were naked and heading toward the bed in short shrift.

She took the lead, climbing over him and impaling herself on his body with an impatient growl. Her head bent down to snap at his skin and she did not temper the strength of her jaws. He knew there would be green marks all over his torso in the morning and found he welcomed the knowledge, letting his own kiss bruise her lips and neck with singularly wanton focus. Impatient, he took hold of her hips with his hands and directed their motion until his climax approached, coming with a snarl and flipping her over to bring her to orgasm with his mouth.

They took only a brief few seconds to recover before recommencing, using one another again and again until they both lay panting on the bed. "Are you... sufficiently... relieved?" he managed after a time.

"Yes, thank you," she replied calmly. "I'm not sure if I've said this before, but if I have it bears repeating. I love you, S'chn T'gai Spock."

"Your pronunciation of my full title is quite adequate," he remarked in the same tone. "You have my love as well. There is and will be no other for me."

"So be it," she concluded. "I need another shower. You should join me, if only because my legs are feeling pretty wobbly right now."

"Indeed," he agreed with a touch of humor. "I would be most gratified if you would once again wash my hair."

"Well," she grinned, and what a bittersweet stab of joy it was to see her finally smile. "I _do_ owe you one."

* * *

Daylight found Spock once again in sitting across from his grandmother, carefully separating out strands of official and unofficial business into distinct piles of conversation. Though T'Pau's face was as placid and unreadable as ever, he knew she was disturbed by the morning's revelations.

As the Enterprise was currently on active duty orbiting the colony planet, Command had denied Dr. Kirk's request that Chief Engineer Scott be relocated dirt-side to assist with shield-building. They had, instead, given her Chekov and blithely ignored (or didn't receive, thanks to Pike) her thirty minute tirade on proper allocation of resources. When Spock sought Jim out for the mid-day meal, he found a pale Pavel Andreivich in the center of a crowd of Vulcan technicians, grimly picking out code on an unfamiliar console, and no Jim in sight.

"Zee doctor, she is in zee rigging," the Ensign informed him after a terse moment. "She say if we distoorb her she electrocute us in wery inconwenient place."

"I see," Spock said.

"I beliewe," Chekov added seriously.

"You are wise to do so," Spock assured him. He turned his eyes to the tangle of fiber optic cables hanging from the ceiling, alternately attempting to calculate where Jim's small body might hide among them and whether or not she would attempt to injure him should he choose to ignore the Ensign's warning. A few fellow Vulcan scientists gave him wary looks, suggesting they too had been on the blunt end of her ire, but none of them spoke.

Deciding that her efficiency would be compromised by hunger if he did not retrieve her now, he began climbing the scaffolding that led to the ceiling. After some deduction he honed in on the section Jim was most likely to occupy, and was rewarded by a flash of sweaty blond hair. "It is time for lunch!" he announced loudly. The wiring jumped.

A face emerged from the depths of the relay, covered in oil and wire shavings. "Hey," it said vaguely.

"Hey," he replied, deadpan. "You require nourishment. I am here to see that you get it."

"Too busy."

"Negative." He stretched out an expectant arm. She glared at him, but after a moment took it. He assisted her as she carefully extricated herself and brushed off her pants. "I commend you on your ability to... 'scare the piss,' I believe is the Terran vernacular? To scare the piss out of the Academy science team. "

"One of my many talents," she grumbled as he followed her down the rig. "I need to eat fast. There's a ton of work and not enough hands to do it."

"You will take a proper refreshment period, or risk sabotaging your performance," he informed her. Her irritation prickled at him but he remained firm. She sighed.

He brushed the tips of his fingers over the back of her hand. "I spent the morning with Councilor T'Pau going over matters of state." A pause. "I also informed her of our concerns regarding T'Pren. She is looking in to them."

"Thanks," Jim replied gratefully as the work-site commissary tender handed them bowls of cooked grain and vegetables. She looked at the item in her hand blankly. "It contains a more than adequate amount of human-friendly proteins," he told her.

"Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes and stuffing a bite in her mouth. "It doesn't taste friendly. It tastes _hostile_."

"Chew your food," he told her tiredly.

She ignored him. "I'm going to have Bones come down tonight and check out T'Pren, make sure nothing else is... off, physically. That okay with you?"

He frowned. "I see no harm in it. But Vulcan children are routinely monitored for any health issues, she should be fine."

Jim regarded him patiently. "Oh," he said after some thought. "Yes, I see your point. But it may be better to have a Vulcan healer look at her. B- Dr. McCoy's specialty is human healthcare, after all." Why he had almost referred to the physician by Jim's idiotic moniker was beyond Spock.

"I trust Bones," she said simply. Spock sighed. Then nodded. "Gotta get back to work. See you for dinner?" She held out two fingers, and he touched them in a kiss.


	23. Chapter 22

****So… I'm still alive. **

**It's taken me a while to wring out the energy to write. I swear I know how this ends and I swear I'll make it good… eventually. **

**I'm grateful for every scrap of recognition y'all give me. It soothes the savage beast more than you know.****

* * *

Q were not generally social beings. In fact, most went for millennia without seeing another member of their race. Therefore Q-S was quite disgruntled at the sudden appearance of her irascible uncle Q-ED. "Ah, ah, little niece*, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" Q-ED chortled.

"I hate these strings! I should have never accepted them from Q-Prime. They never behave as they ought and constantly circumvent the quadrant's laws of physics." Q-S peered morosely at a tangle of life-sparks, honing on the obvious luminosity of a particular pair. Q-ED leaned over her 'shoulder,' not that an unmanifested Q had a shoulder but it was impossible not to think in third-seed** terms when you're constantly dealing with humanoids. "Ah," laughed her cousin. "Those two again."

"They're like a… like a virus, to coin a crude metaphor! They pair up everywhere no matter what I do! See - in this timeline I pulled the Jim spark as soon as I saw it, and shoved it back in the timeline until it no longer overlapped with the Spock spark. There was no possible way for them to intersect! None!"

"And yet there they are," Q-ED observed wryly.

"Only because a Spock-spark from ANOTHER UNIVERSE (in which I had, incidentally, removed the Jim-spark via time/space wrinkle) broke through the quantum barrier, re-wrote the original Spock-spark's destiny, and catalyzed a series of highly improbable chain reactions - so now there is one original Spock-spark, one Spock-spark from another universe and time-point, and one Jim-spark that should have been in an entirely different time point from the other two -

"All living happily together. How lovely." Q-ED roared with laughter, slapping his non-existent thighs.

"It's not amusing. They disrupt every continuum they inhabit as soon as they meet. It's all heroics and epic love tales and one-man-can-change-the-world tropes."

"Ah. I believe our cousin Q-Prime had a similar thorn in his side when he presided over these strings. Merlin and Arthur, he called them? Rather than constantly reappearing in new timelines, these two hunkered down in their original string and refused to leave, or die, until their reunion was resolved. Since that would require magic, which was banned from this quadrant of strings many cycles ago, they're still waiting, refusing to allow their current string to dissolve into the matrix."

"Why not bring them together anyway and let them sort it out?"

"Because whenever they're awake and together, they start rewriting all the strings around them, like they are Q. Harmony and justice for all. It's a disaster."

"The Jim and Spock sparks do the same thing!"

"Mmm. Last time Merlin was with Arthur, _Elder Gods_ happened."

"By the Continuum!"

"Yeah. I did like Nimue though. Feisty little witch."

"I think I know that spark. Manifests as a singer-manipulator? Keeps trying to bond with the Spock-spark in a bunch of the strings, but the Jim-spark manages to jump in every time."

"Great, isn't she? I love the elements of chaos."

Q-ED always did have a propensity to "get fond" of certain reoccurring signatures. Right now he was obsessed with one he called the Picard-spark, and frequently jumped down the dimensional ladder to tease it. Q-S found these proceedings highly inappropriate but was too annoyed by her current predicament, i.e. Jim and Spock, to censure him.

"Niece, you have let my Picard-spark get Borged," Q-ED said reproachfully as he thumbed*** through her work. She glanced at the strings he was holding. "A natural progression of that timeline," she nodded.

"Poppycock!" Q-ED scoffed. "I believe I shall take a little trip into the common plane. Toodle-oo!" Q-S sighed, and delicately rearranged a Pre-Surakian string to eliminate all the possible Jim-sparks. They were, after all, the ones most likely to cause trouble.

* * *

_*Q aren't really male or female. They're an interdimensional species with no set gender and a reproductive cycle that bears no particular resemblance to ours. However, for the purposes of translation, Q-ED is referred to as "niece" and "she/her."_

_**Denotes a number of dimensional constraints, however a Standard reader may interpret "third-seed" to mean 3D. _

_***Does Q-ED have thumbs? If a Q manifests as a humanoid in a forest with no one around to see, does it/he/ze have phalanges, or is it all an illusion? Rather than contemplate these mysteries, the author suggests you have a martini. _

_****Q-ED could mean "Q of the Enterprise Dimension," or the author could just be an asshole who likes terrible puns. Again - don't worry about it. Have some more olives in your martini._

* * *

Bones stared at them like they were out of their minds. (Or mind, as it were, but he had no use for that distinction and would resent it if it were pointed out.) "You've a whole planet of Vulcan voodoo shamans. Why you callin' me down at dinnertime?"

"We have reason to believe that appropriate standard of care has not been applied in the case of this juvenile," Spock explained patiently, ignoring the look of indignation that was slowly flaring in his bond-mate's eyes.

"Please, Bones. You're the only one I trust right now. Can't you at least do some scans?" Jim pled.

Seemingly unaware of the tension in the room, Dr. McCoy continued to grumble. However, no mood of his was able to completely withstand the power of a Jim-pout, so he grudgingly agreed to examine T'Pren.

When the physical findings came back normal, he shot Jim an _I-told-you-so_ look that sent Spock into red-alert mode. "I ain't a mind-healer. Normally I'd say, let's do what we can, but you got about 500 more qualified practitioners here, and you know that. Unless anything else is bleedin' or on fire, I'd like to get to my supper."

"Go on then," Jim rejoined stiffly. "I hope it's really, really delicious."

"Pah. You owe me one," said the ridiculous doctor, and Spock could take no more.

"I believe Jim's prevention of your imminent vaporization via Klingon Warbird is a more than sufficient standard of currency," he barked. "However, if this does not meet your criteria, surely the effort she is making to 'save your ass' _now_, I believe is the phrase, is more than adequate!"

"Hush," she interjected, laying a cool palm against his bicep. "I did that first one for you, if you must know… not that you took advantage. Dr. McCoy owes me no debts." Her eyes skirted towards a significantly abashed Bones. "You don't owe me anything. If you can help T'Pren, I'll make good by you, I swear it."

"I gotcha," Dr. McCoy gulped, his shamed eyes unable to meet anything but the floor. "You need me for anything else, any time, I'll be by right quick."

"Thanks, Bones," Jim chirped. She scheduled a visit with the planet's premier pediatrician for the next day.

* * *

Oh he is strong, Spock son of Sarek, as he moves her.

One hand on the mattress, another beneath her hips, long fingers spreading beneath her glutes to hold her up into his thrusts as though this balletic position were no trouble at all, as it if were effortless. He holds them both up one-handed and drives into her without mercy or restraint. His lips dip down to swallow her cries and only the ecstasy thrumming through the bond belies this graceful arc. It tells her they are one. One accord, one desire, one consuming need.

She sings out her climax, a singularity only he can wring from her, but that he makes as easy as breathing though it devastates. Annihilates. Each time he sweeps away some useless part of her former self and remakes her in the image of _them_, the image of completion. Though he has never asked, he knows, that before him and before even the darkness that followed her youth, all her orgasms were separate encounters, pleasant and fond but not the equal of this searing meld between him and her.

Now each time they melt together in the crucible, more impurities burn away.

He cries out too in the end, and some part of her recognizes that he feels the same - that what once would have been an unthinkable weakness has now become as essential as air when he succumbs to the moment of unity between them. She fiercely loves the pulse of his release inside her. She holds him so tight, determined to _feel _him come, determined to hold the evidence in her body like a sacred offering. She loves the feather-light flickers of his erection growing soft inside her. She loves…

Part of her imagines what it would be like, to be filled up by him. To carry his seed to its natural conclusion, to grow gravid with their union. She hides it in her heart, away from the bond that holds no secrets, but the faint longing such an image engenders keeps her from immediate sleep.

What would such a being be like? Son or daughter, child of human and Vulcan? There is a love in her that longs to be awoken, a fierceness reserved only for a being that may one day be.

Tonight it bleeds over, mixed with her worry and love for T'Pren and her fear for the future. Tonight he senses the strings of her thoughts and grabs on to their frayed edges, following them down to her center.

The abject longing that sweeps over her is an answer of itself.

"T'Pren," she objects on a gasp, unable to organize her thoughts.

"Of course," he murmurs, and the mouthing nips to her collarbone seem un-premeditated and helpless. "And more," he affirms as he marks her skin with his teeth.

"I said once," she answers in a breathy tone not quite her own, "that you fill me. You -"

"I will," he avows, growling. "I will fill you each day and each night and each lifetime, until we are both full, until -"

"God, yes," she concludes for him, and he sinks into her body heat, as if he is wax and she the candle melting him down.


End file.
